


All Our Yesteryears

by Katbelle



Series: Future Imperfect [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Families of Choice, Friendship, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Attempted Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kid Fic, Meet the Family, Moving On, Permanent Injury, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4285893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katbelle/pseuds/Katbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years ago, something terrible has happened. Something horrible and painful and Devil-related, and he just <em>checked out</em> of his life, emotionally and physically. Now, six years later, Franklin Nelson is back in New York and is only now starting to realise just how much has changed in that time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Our Yesteryears

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/2760.html?thread=5002184#cmt5002184) over at the kink meme.

**All Our Yesteryears**

 

**0.**

"Are you happy?"

They're back at Matt's place. They've swung by their office on their way there, to once more admire the Nelson & Murdock plate that Foggy screwed into place in the morning. Nelson & Murdock. All their dreams, right there.

Matt smiles at his beer bottle. It's not the kind of smile Foggy has seen on him back in law school, almost unguarded and genuinely happy. This one is more reserved, a little bit afraid, as if Matt wasn't sure he was allowed.

"Yeah, Foggy," he says and maybe Foggy cannot hear heartbeats and is not a walking polygraph, but he still knows Matt is sincere. "I am."

 

**1.**

They take down Fisk and everything seems to go back to normal. Foggy cannot unlearn the fact that Matt, his best friend Matt, is a crazy vigilante in a dumb costume, but it somehow works. Matt is--Matt is crazy good at separating those two aspects of his life. He's just Matt around Karen and Foggy, and Foggy allows himself to be lulled into a sense of security. He even starts wondering why did he ever want to leave, to walk out of Matt's life.

He cannot remember any of the reasons he no doubt had.

It takes seven months after their big Fisk takedown, one kidnapping and a four-hour-long torture session to remind him that the reasons he had were real and valid ones.

 

**2.**

He has a broken leg, cracked skull, a concussion, broken ribs, he's bleeding internally from an organ he can't even name, and there's a distinct possibility that the shattered fingers of his right hand will never work properly again.

Matt sits by his bed all days, right up until the moment the nurses kick him out. He cries a lot, apologises even more. Foggy would like to tell him that it's okay, it's not his fault, but the words will not form, stubbornly will not leave his mouth. He doesn't believe them himself. It is Matt's fault. It is Daredevil's fault and Matt is Daredevil, so eventually it all circles back to being Matt's fault, Matt's fault for choosing fighting crime over the safety of the people he supposedly cares about.

 

**3.**

"I just need some time off," he tells a concerned Karen and tries to smile, for her sake. She winces so he knows it didn't come out the way he wanted it to.

Well. It's not like he'll be much of use around the office anyway. His leg is still in a cast, his right hand is meat-grinder type of horror and he can't take a deep breath because if he does, his everything suddenly starts hurting more.

"Take all the time you need," Matt tells him. He's sad. He feels guilty. Foggy can _feel_ the anxiety rolling off him in waves. He says nothing.

"We'll miss you!" Karen says.

Foggy laughs. It's hollow and very much unlike him. "I'll be back before you know it."

 

**4.**

He somehow ends up on his uncle William's farm in Kansas. He didn't plan on going there, it just kind of happened, like a lot of things in his life lately. Discovering his best friend is a vigilante. Getting kidnapped and tortured. Those things had a tendency to creep up on him when he was least expecting them.

He never even liked the countryside.

"You're a lawyer, right?" Uncle William asks him one day. He's holding a letter that bears what looks like an official county emblem. Foggy extends a hand and Uncle William passes him the unopened envelope.

"I am," he says. The letter is from the county court, the case has been brought against William for some alleged land appropriation and wrongful delimitation. Foggy never specialised in land law, but he did graduate cum laude and he's not stupid. "I can look into this."

Uncle William beams and reaches out to ruffle his hair. "Thanks, Frankie."

 

**5.**

"When are you coming back?" Karen asks over the phone every week without fault.

"I don't know," Foggy tells her truthfully.

 

**6.**

Matt calls as regularly as Karen does. Foggy never picks up. He doesn't have the energy or will to talk to him. Wouldn't know what to tell him even if he did.

 

**7.**

Foggy ends up preparing a winning case for William who then presents it in court. Foggy's not a registered attorney in Kansas, and despite that — after William's spectacular victory — a bunch of his Uncle's friends come knocking on his door, asking for help from William's nephew.

Foggy ends up registering with the Kansas bar. He's already a certified attorney with the NY bar, and Kansas has a reciprocal agreement in place. It's only a matter of filling in a few forms, and is another one of those things that kind of just happened.

 

**8.**

Karen stops calling around the end of the seventh month. Foggy doesn't know why. He's also not exactly sure when was it that _Matt_ gave up, but he must have done so long before Karen, because Foggy cannot remember the last time he saw his caller id on screen. 

It stings only a little.

 

**9.**

It takes almost a year, but all his injuries heal eventually. The leg hurts at times and he knows he'll never run a marathon now — not that he ever planned to, but he feels angry nonetheless. A possibility of something that never occurred to him before has been taken away. His hand healed objectively the worst, his fingers are stiff and swollen and misshapen, but he can bend them and flex them and he can hold a pen and write, so it's not as bad as it could have been.

He starts toying with the idea of going back to New York. He hasn't heard from Karen in almost five months now, but he could still go back. All the time he needed, right?

The day he decides to buy a ticket back is the day he meets Kara.

 

**10.**

Kara is another one of those things that just kind of happen to him. A PR specialist for a big time publishing house from San Francisco, she is like a force of nature, a tsunami that swept through Foggy's life just before Christmas and took him with her on its retreat.

He doesn't go back to New York. While buying tickets online, tickets to New York, his hand hovers over the 'buy' button, but eventually lands on 'cancel order'.

Like a lovesick, headless puppy he follows Kara back to San Francisco instead.

 

**11.**

He gets a job in the legal department of the publishing house that Kara works for. He knows even less about intellectual property law than he knew about land law, but hey, he's smart and treats this as a challenge.

He gets swept up in an avalanche of new information, new colleagues, new clients, new names, new faces. It's not the kind of life he imagined for himself, but it's not all bad, he works from 7am to midnight some days, but he likes the job so he's not complaining. It's a brand new life, with new phone, new house, new friends and Kara, and Kara manages to fill up his time with things he never even thought of, golf, yachts, oysters, fancy dinner parties, the things that were par on course for a person as high up on the publishing house's ladder of importance as Kara apparently was.

When they get married on a beach in Palo Alto about eleven months after their first meeting on a cold pre-Christmas day somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Kansas, it's Kara's brother Connor that serves as Foggy's best man and Foggy's secretary as the maid of honour.

It's during the reception that he realises that he hasn't thought, hasn't had the time to think, about Matt or Karen in more than a year. It makes him feel vaguely ill and a part of him screams that it's just not right.

 

**12.**

Foggy becomes an expert on intellectual property law. Kara becomes the vice president of the company. They see each other less and less.

 

**13.**

There are moments — usually deep at night, after Kara has gone to bed without uttering a word to him, too tired for conversation after a day filled with dealing with various obnoxious agents and whining writers, after Foggy finds out that he cannot sleep and not because there's work to do (there's always work to do), but because he feels guilty, feels guilty and doesn't know why — when he goes to his study and turns the laptop on. He searches 'Daredevil' and holds his breath for the second it takes Google to load the results.

He still worries that one day he'll wake up to the news that Daredevil, New York's favourite vigilante superhero, is dead.

He never gets the urge to google Matt. He used to, but not anymore. It's been more than three years since he left. He burnt that bridge when he never picked up any of Matt's calls, when he stopped paying the bills of his New York number and apartment, when he didn't come back despite promising that he would.

He clenches his right hand into a fist and the fingers bend, but not all the way, the joints creak and the bones hurt, and that is a reminder enough as to why.

 

**14.**

It doesn't even come as a surprise when he finds Kara in bed with her PA. He's not even angry. He just sighs, tells the boy — and he's a boy, barely over twenty, a kid really, younger than Foggy was when he threw in his lot with Matt Murdock — to get dressed and get out of his house. He's not angry. He's perfectly calm. Maybe a bit resigned, because he assumed that if Kara was ever to cheat on him, she'd do it with someone classier than the child who brings her coffee.

"You're not angry," Kara notices. She's sitting on the bed, stark naked.

Foggy sits down next to her. "No," he admits. "I'm not even disappointed. Well, maybe a little, in your choice of a partner rather than the conduct itself."

Kara puts her head on his shoulder and sighs. Nuzzles his neck and says, "I think we should get a divorce."

He kisses the top of her head. She's always been brilliant, this Kara of his. He might have even loved her. "This might be your best idea yet, sweetheart."

 

**15.**

Staying in San Francisco becomes almost unbearable after the divorce. He contemplates moving. Has no idea where he could go.

"I'm sorry about your divorce," his boss says when he visits him one day. Foggy's office is on the twentieth floor of the building in which the publishing house has its headquarters. It has the view of the Bay, is furnished with glass and chrome and includes a chair that is difficult to sit in.

Foggy shrugs. "It wasn't going to work out." It hurts to admit, because he's sacrificed so much for it to work.

"I have a proposition for you," Wendell McDuffie says and that catches Foggy's interest. "For some time now I've been thinking about establishing offices on the East Coast. I need a loyal and trustworthy team there, and that doesn't include merely a head of the office, but also the legal team there. You're from New York, right?"

"Yes," Foggy confirms and the anticipation is making him almost dizzy.

"You know the city, you know the legal scene there," Wendell carries on. "So, Franklin. How would you feel about becoming the head of the legal department in my New York branch?"

 

**16.**

It takes another eight months for everything to be prepared, but they do struggle through that, and close to six years after he left New York, Foggy sees Times Square again.

It's different than it used to be. Foggy sees Times Square from his office on thirtieth floor — the higher up you go in the company's hierarchy, the higher up you go in the building, it seems — he's pretty much the second most influential person in McDuffie's East Coast offices, has his own assistant and a secretary, a team of six lawyers under him and a bunch of applicants for an internship.

And yet, for all that he is currently living every law student's wet dream, Foggy stands by his floor-to-ceiling window and strains to see Hell's Kitchen.

 

**17.**

The first surprise comes in the form of the person who takes him to his company-provided brand new Manhattan apartment. It's not his assistant. It's not anyone's assistant.

"You must be my dad's new favourite lawyer?" A young woman smiles at him when he leaves the building. She extends a hand. "I'm Kirsten."

"That I am," he says as he takes her hand. His fingers aren't strong enough to squeeze it anymore, but a simple touch usually suffices. "I'm Franklin."

No one has called him 'Foggy' for years now. He might be the only person still referring to himself like that.

"Hop in." Kirsten points to a Volvo behind her. It's way too cheap and family-friendly to be a company car. "Everyone is so busy with making sure the office works that I have been graced with the task of taking you to your new home."

His boss' daughter. Good Lord.

"Just give me the address," Foggy says. "I'm from New York, I'm more than capable of getting there myself."

Kirsten waves a hand dismissively and opens the passenger door for him. "Nonsense," she says. "It'll be a pleasure. I'm going in that direction anyway."

So Foggy gets into the car and jumps up immediately when his seat makes a noise. Kirsten laughs next to him.

"Sorry," she says. "My son has a tendency to leave his toys everywhere."

She removes a squeaking duck from the passenger seat and throws it into the back. After making sure that Foggy's comfortable and has his seatbelt on, she turns on the engine and joins the traffic.

"So, Franklin," she starts, "what did my father promise you to make you agree to work here for him?"

Foggy shrugs. "I wanted to leave San Fran, this seemed like a great opportunity." He looks towards Kirsten. "Why? Does this job have a dark side that I'm not aware of?"

Kirsten laughs. "My dad's last three heads of legal department were scared away by my husband, and we live on the opposite side of the country. He can be--intense, when he puts his mind to it. And he's more than happy to take up any case against my dad."

"Your husband's a lawyer?" Interesting. Foggy was vaguely aware that Wendell McDuffie had a daughter living in New York and that they didn't have a great relationship. He didn't know anything about a son-in-law.

"I'm a lawyer as well." Kirsten winks at him. "Father never forgave me for saying that I'd rather work my ass off as assistant D.A. than work for _him_."

"He's not that bad," Foggy states, and thinks about Landman and Zack. No, working corpo for Wendell McDuffie was nowhere near as soul-sucking as working there.

"Still not what I'd like to do with my life. No offence." Kirsten's phone rings. She shoots Foggy an apologising look, takes an earpiece from the carset and answers the call. "Hi, baby. Yeah, I'm going to pick him up. Uh-huh. It should be with the Ramirez files. Well, then I don't know. Ask Em, she's the only one who keeps your life in reasonable reigns. No, I'm not. I'm actually taking your new competition home right now." She grins at Foggy. "Nah, he's nice. Much better than Blake was. Yes, okay. Okay. Alright. Oh, and sweetie? If you see Luke tonight, ask him if he still wants us to take Danielle over the weekend. Yeah. Sure. Absolutely not, I love you more, dumbass. See you at home."

Kirsten kills the call and looks to Foggy again, apology ready on her lips. "We're in the middle of a case," she explains, "and my dumb husband is the most disorganised person I've ever met."

Foggy chuckles, reminded suddenly of the disaster that was Matt and Karen's early filing system. He sobers up quickly. He hasn't thought about that for years. "Trust me, he's definitely not the worst."

Kirsten pulls up in front of a beautiful building, four storey, white exterior, glass-covered entrance. If Foggy's not mistaken, it takes about six minutes on foot to get from here to Central Park. If he's very lucky, the park might be even seen from his windows. 

"Here we are," Kirsten says. A porter rushes to open the passenger door. "There's a company car at your disposal 24/7, but if you enjoy the subway, feel free." She glances at her watch. "I'd love to go up with you, but my son's swimming class ends in fifteen minutes."

"No problem." Foggy is still gaping at his new apartment building. The last time he lived in New York, he lived over a Korean restaurant and close to a taxi stop. This is most definitely an upgrade. The money that lies in the law profession. "Thank you for driving me here."

"A pleasure." Kirsten smiles and waves at him. "See you around!"

 

**18.**

New York is both the same and vastly different than it was six years ago when Foggy left. The streets are the same, the buildings are mostly the same — but the feel of it is different, the atmosphere is much friendlier, almost safer. Foggy sees a lot of Daredevil graffiti when he goes for a walk one evening and his feet carry him through familiar streets to Hell's Kitchen almost without his conscious knowledge.

He ends up standing in front of Matt's apartment. The billboard is still there, bright as ever, and Foggy is suddenly hit with the realisation that it's silly of him to assume this is still Matt's apartment. For the first time he thinks about the fact that it's been six years. Six years, more than half a decade, almost as long as Foggy has known Matt for when he left. He realises for the first time that the time in New York didn't stop, that it's been six years for Matt and Karen the same way it has been six years for him.

He knows that Matt is alive — Daredevil makes the news every other day here, he's much more prominent than on the West Coast coverage — but that's all he knows. Matt might not even live here anymore.

He has the sudden urge to go inside and knock on Matt's door.

He has to be in court tomorrow and there are still a few files he needs to go over.

He walks back to his apartment the same way he got there.

 

**19.**

He hears it the next week in court, by accident. He wasn't even supposed to be there, but one of his idiot subordinates misfiled part of their complaint and he had to come in and settle the matter.

"Have you seen the D.A.'s face? Murdock slayed him as usual, it's almost sad to watch by now."

Foggy's head snaps up and he spies the woman who said that. She looks like an intern, is standing by the water fountain with her friend, chatting away her break.

"Excuse me," Foggy moves closer to her, "I overheard your conversation. Did you mean Matt Murdock? Where can I find him?"

"Yeah." The woman nods. "I just saw him with his client by courtroom 4, he might still be there, gloating over the D.A."

Foggy walks towards courtroom 4 with such a spring in his steps that it makes his leg ache. He notices an elderly man by the entrance, the client most likely, surrounded by whom Foggy assumes are his family. But no Matt. He stands on tiptoes and looks around, and is ready to head back to his own courtroom when he sees him.

Matt looks--Matt looks exactly like he did when Foggy saw him last. Hair in disarray, dark grey suit, red glasses and a cane in hand. He's talking with someone, a tall brown-haired woman. The woman punches him in the arm and Matt laughs at that, throws his head back and laughs, the sound rich and happy.

Foggy wants to call him. Has no idea what he could possibly say.

In the end he says nothing, waits too long and by the time he has gathered the courage, Matt and the woman have left the building.

 

**20.**

The New York branch of the publishing house finds a promising new fantasy author and Foggy manages to secure a book deal, lucrative both for the writer and the publisher. It'll be the first book published on the East Coast and Wendell has flown in from San Francisco to celebrate that.

"A proper book launch party!" he says, giddy, as he paces around Foggy's office. "Derek Bishop will _die_ of envy when he realises what a gem you've managed to steal right from under his nose."

"I didn't steal anyone," Foggy repeats for a hundredth time. "Just made sure our proposal was more interesting."

Wendell clasps a hand over Foggy's shoulder. "Next Sunday," he reminds. "Don't forget. Everyone who's anyone in Manhattan will be there."

"Wonderful," Foggy grits out. He's beginning to miss San Francisco. He had friends there, actual friends with whom he could go golfing. Here he didn't have the time to even learn the names of all the people in his department, let alone make any friends. New York is filled with ghosts of lost opportunities and chances.

He really was better off in San Francisco.

Wendell pats his shoulder again. "Perfect," he says and leaves the office.

Foggy hangs his head low and sighs.

 

**21.**

He never felt comfortable in a tux. Even at his own wedding he wore a simple white suit, but no, here, amongst the best of the best of Manhattan's socialites, the tuxedo was a must. Foggy pulls at his bowtie — it's ridiculous, the bowtie, and he hates it — and smiles at the people that pass him by, congratulating him briefly on the go. He gulps down his champagne and feels too hot, surrounded by people that he doesn't _fit_ with.

He fishes out a waiter from amongst the crowd, gives him his empty glass and grabs a full one, heads out to the garden terrace that he has spied here earlier. Wendell has rented this ballroom exclusively for tonight, might as well be the person who justifies the extra expense the rooftop garden was.

He sits down on a marble bench and sips his champagne, enjoys the view of the city. He can see his office and his apartment building from here. Somehow it doesn't make him happy.

"Hi," says the bush next to the bench. Foggy barely manages not to spill the champagne on his shirt.

"Jesus," he says and puts his glass down. A little boy — no older than five, is his estimate — peeks out from behind the bush, a sheepish expression on his face. "You've scared me."

"Sorry." The kid climbs onto the bench to sit next to Foggy. Foggy moves his glass to make room for him. "I was hiding."

"Why?" Foggy asks. The kid is dressed in a kid-sized tuxedo not unlike his own, but thankfully was spared the bowtie. He has unruly black hair that sticks out in every possible direction and happy, hazel eyes. He vaguely reminds Foggy of someone, but he cannot quite place whom.

The kid shrugs and swings his legs. "Grandpa keeps introducing me to new people. It's boring." Ah. So this must be Kirsten's son. Foggy cocks his head. The boy has her hair and the shape of her eyes, he does look like her, but it's not _it_ and Foggy still cannot figure it out. Good thing the kid doesn't look like Wendell, though. "I'm Jack."

The boy extends his little hand and Foggy takes it, shakes it hard. "Nice to meet you, Jack. I'm Franklin."

The kid's eyes go wide with surprise at that and then he beams, smiles so brilliantly it makes his whole face glow with happiness. "I'm Franklin too!" he says happily and climbs to sit cross-legged on the bench. He observes Foggy with wide, excited eyes. "That's my middle name! Daddy says--"

Foggy doesn't find out what Jack's daddy says. A young woman in a purple dress comes out onto the terrace; Jack squeaks and dives off the bench and back behind his bush.

"Jackie!" the girl calls out. "Jackie, come on, it's not funny anymore!"

"That's Kate," the bush informs Foggy in a conspiratorial whisper. "She's my babysitter. Grandpa hates her, because she's a Bishop. Daddy thinks she's okay, though."

"And what do you think?" Foggy asks the bush, in an equally quiet voice.

"I'm gonna marry her when I grow up."

Foggy laughs under his breath. Kate Bishop, meanwhile, shakes her head and goes back inside. The bush exhales softly and a minute later Jack climbs back onto the bench.

"I don't want to go back inside," he pouts.

Foggy pats his knee. "You might have to, at some point."

Jack looks up at him, eyes still wide, curious and so very hazel. "And what about you?"

"I'll have to go back too."

"Gotcha!"

Foggy yelps and starts, all but jumps on the bench, manages to knock off his glass. Jack yelps too, tries to run, but the arms of a young woman hold him in place. Kate Bishop tickles him and Jack giggles, trying to squirm out of her embrace.

"You thought you could hide from _me_ , young mister?" Kate Bishop asks. Jack is still giggling. "Hawks never lose their prey."

"Sorry!" Jack pants out. Kate ruffles his already wild hair.

"Come, Jackie. Your dad's looking for you."

Jack takes Kate's hand and she leads him back to the ballroom. He turns and waves at Foggy, and Foggy waves back. When Kate Bishop and the kid disappear inside, Foggy looks down at the remnants of his glass and the champagne spilt on the ground. He sighs, gets up, and follows the two back.

 

**22.**

He manages to secure himself another glass before Wendell McDuffie finds him in the crowd. He clasps his shoulder in a fatherly way and exclaims, "Franklin, just the person I wanted to see! There's someone I want you to meet."

He steers Foggy towards a group of people standing a bit to the side. Foggy can see Kirsten there, and a middle-aged man with a twenty-something blonde hanging off his arm. Jack is nowhere to be seen, so Foggy assumes Kate Bishop has taken him to his father.

"Franklin, you already know my daughter, Kirsten," Wendell says. Kirsten smiles at him warmly and her eyes convey a silent apology for this whole thing. They're both lawyers, this kind of parties are not their element. "And this is Derek Bishop and his lovely wife Heather."

"So this is your secret weapon, huh?" Derek Bishop asks as he reaches out to clasp Foggy's hand. He freezes when he notices the state of Foggy's right hand — despite the years the fingers still are red and look swollen, are misshapen in places where no one was able to set the shattered bones straight. Derek Bishop swallows and soldiers on, squeezing Foggy's hand. Foggy is used to that kind of reaction now.

"I'm just doing my job," Foggy says and it's true. He's just a lawyer here. He works for a publishing house, but he's not a scout or an editor, he knows nothing about the business of actually publishing a book. His job is to make sure the contracts are air-tight and that everyone is satisfied. He's hardly a hero.

"You wish you had one of these, Derek," Wendell says with a laugh.

"That would certainly level the field," says an amused voice behind them and Foggy freezes. He knows that voice. No matter what, no matter the years and miles between them, he'd know that voice anywhere.

"Ah." Wendell steers him around so that they're standing face to face with the new arrival. "Franklin, this is my son-in-law, Matthew Murdock. Matt, this is the man responsible for the success the New York office is, head of my legal department, Franklin Nelson."

The colour doesn't quite drain from Matt's face, but he certainly pales a little. His grip on his cane becomes tighter and he takes a deep, wheezing breath. Kirsten looks to him with concern, touches his arm gently.

"Baby?" she asks.

Matt exhales. "Foggy," he breathes out so quietly that Foggy is sure no one but him and Kirsten heard it. Kirsten's eyes widen and dart over to Foggy. Matt manages to compose himself and plasters a strained smile on his face, of the kind that Foggy remembers. He offers his hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

Foggy takes the offered hand. Matt's back goes string-tight when their hands touch and Foggy realises that Matt has never touched him after--after _that_ , that Matt never felt what was done to Foggy's hand. Foggy snatches it back as quickly as is prudent.

On his left, Wendell starts talking about the publishing prospects.

 

**23.**

"Oh, excuse us, I think I can see Virginia Potts..."

Wendell and Derek Bishop leave them, pulled away by some mutual friend. Heather Bishop follows them, clearly happy to be at the party, but as lost as Foggy is feeling. That leaves Foggy all alone with Kirsten and Matt. Kirsten's eyes keep getting narrower and narrower and her lips form a tight line. Matt--Jesus, _Matt_. He's wearing a tux as well, with a red bowtie. His hair is slicked back and he looks _good_ , he looks _healthy_ even if slightly rattled now. He's playing with his cane, fiddling with it, and it's a habit he's always had, had to do something with his hands when he was nervous and anxious.

"This is a surprise," Matt forces out eventually and yes, he does sound surprised, but nothing else. Is it a good kind of a surprise? The bad kind?

"Yeah," Foggy says, because _fuck_ , this is a surprise and that's pretty much all he can say at this point. He hates how choked up his voice sounds.

"Foggy," Matt starts, but whatever he was about to say gets interrupted.

"Daddyyy!" The black blur that Foggy recognises as Jack — Jack, _Jack_ , of course — collides with Matt's legs. Kirsten takes his cane and Matt bends, scoops Jack up into his arms.

"Hey, Jackie," he says with a grin. "Heard you were hiding from Katie."

"I was, but then I wasn't, and I made a friend," Jack says quickly, out of breath. He notices Foggy on his left and waves. "Hi!" He turns back to his father. "And then Kate got a phone call, and I bet her I could get to you before her and tell you myself, and I did, see?"

"No, but I can certainly hear," Matt answers and both Foggy and Kirsten snicker at the bad joke. Foggy tries to mask his as a cough, feeling guilty all of a sudden. "What was Kate's phone call about?"

"Clint called," Kate Bishop explains, moving noiselessly and closer to stand behind Matt. Her voice drops to a whisper. "There's a situation in Midtown. They could use your help."

Matt nods. "Right." He passes Jack to Kirsten. The kid yawns loudly and settles his head against his mother's shoulder. "Kirsten...?"

"If that was Tony Stark calling you know I wouldn't let you," she says. "But since Clint's my favourite Avenger, go. Go be a hero." She leans in and kisses Matt's cheek. "Don't get yourself killed, I'll see you at home."

Matt nods again. Kate Bishop is already in the middle of the ballroom; she turns around, notices that Matt's not following her, and stops, waiting.

"Foggy..." Matt says again, but this time it's not cut off, it's everything he wanted to say. He shakes his head. "It _was_ nice seeing you again."

"Likewise," Foggy murmurs after Matt's retreating back. In his shock he doesn't even notice the perfect opening for a dumb joke.

 

**24.**

Foggy slips out of the party not long after that. He finds a moment when Kirsten is distracted with Jack falling asleep on her, and he leaves, almost runs to the lobby, checks out his coat and grabs a taxi home.

He undresses, puts on a bathrobe and sits down on the bed. He doesn't go to sleep, wouldn't be able to even if he tried.

God. 

He gets up and goes to the balcony, leans against the railing — he was right, he can see Central Park from here — and watches the sun rise over New York.

Matt. He's not dead. He's healthy. He's working. He's fine. He's _fine_. He's married, has a kid. Life seems to have been kind to him. And he's--He's _happy_.

And Foggy is... not.

_God._

When did that happen?

 

**25.**

"This is really awkward."

Foggy raises his head from over the newest contract that his intern managed to fuck up. Jesus, young lawyers these days, did they really go through law school without absorbing any knowledge? He and Matt weren't that hopelessly dumb at Landman and Zack, were they? Hopelessly idealistic, perhaps, but nowhere near this brainless. At this point Foggy was afraid of giving the interns anything more complicated to do than making copies and coffee. 

Kirsten is standing in the doorway of his office, leaning against the doorframe. Foggy hasn't seen her since the day of the ball. Wendell cornered him at the office the next day and asked about him leaving so quickly, to which Foggy come up with an easy lie about a headache and not feeling well. Wendell let it go, still elated about the book deal and about pulling one over Derek Bishop, and then was gone two days after that, back in San Francisco.

Foggy leans back in his chair. He figured out a way to sit in it, but it's still not comfortable. "A bit," he admits. "I could try talking with your father about going back to San Fran, but I doubt he'd let me."

He doesn't want to go back to San Francisco anymore. He's thought about it. For the first time in years, he's actually thought about what he wants. And he wants to stay in New York. That's his home. He wants to stay, he wants to--he wants to _try_.

"I'm not talking about that, but true, that's a bit awkward too." Kirsten sighs and lifts her head up, looks to the office ceiling. "It's just... In the past four years I've dreamt about kicking you in the face _a lot_ , and now I've met you and you seem to be--an actually nice person? Don't get me wrong, at times I still get the urge to kick you in the face, but then I think that perhaps you don't deserve it that much?"

"I, uh, I don't think I do?" Foggy says, unsure. He doesn't know what Kirsten is talking about. He has a feeling — suspects, because the wedding ring on her finger is like a magnet drawing his eyes — but he's not _sure_.

"Yeah, he said you didn't," Kirsten murmurs. "Which is part of the problem."

 

**26.**

He's not sure how he ended up by their old office.

It's been close to three months after the book launch ball. He's seen Matt around in court, sometimes with Kirsten, sometimes alone, a few times with that mysterious brunette accompanying him. They've never had the time to exchange more than a few words, always busy, always in a hurry.

Hi, hi, good too see you, sorry, I've gotta go, good luck with your case.

He managed to polish up the contract that his intern maimed — and the intern is gone, HR told him that they didn't see a possibility of continuing the internship given the guy's less than satisfactory performance — and it's been approved and signed, the writer was theirs for an exclusive three-book deal. It was a success. Wendell was ecstatic when he heard and told the whole team involved in this particular deal to take the following week off.

Foggy spent the first three days playing Mario Kart.

Most of his coworkers went away with their families, or made plans with their friends. Foggy--well, he didn't have friends in New York exactly. He had some passing acquaintances, but the person with whom he's had the longest conversations ever since he moved back almost half a year ago, was his porter.

On the fourth day, he stopped by his old apartment. There was a young couple living there now with eleven-month-old twins. They didn't know what happened to the stuff he left in the apartment when he left, the place was completely empty when they rented it. He's not surprised by that. Most of it his landlord has probably thrown away. Foggy tries to remember if there was anything even remotely valuable amongst that stuff. Cannot remember a single thing he owned.

He leaves the place, and the weather is beautiful, it's surprisingly warm for a spring day, so Foggy ends up just wandering around Hell's Kitchen aimlessly and only stops when his feet have carried him to their old office, all without his express permission.

The building looks the same as it did six years ago, only with more signs by the door. Foggy is tempted to go inside; the probability of Matt — and Karen, God, _Karen_ — still being here, still working here, is low. They certainly moved offices, could afford to now, if the number of cases held by Matt and his mysterious brunette partner was any indication.

Yet still. He could go inside. He could knock at the door of whatever office was located in their old space now, introduce himself, tell the man or the woman at the door that he was merely passing by, but couldn't help himself. This happened once to him, when he was a child; an elderly woman knocked on the door of his family's house and said that she used to live in here, years ago, that it was the very first flat she and her husband lived in.

He would sound like her. Yes, I'm terribly sorry, it's just I used to work here, years ago. This was the first office my friend and I had, and we were so happy, so sure that this was a partnership that would last forever. He would sound fond. Wistful. He wound sound like he regretted.

The corridor almost didn't change — almost, because Foggy notices that the door of the financial office was blocked from the inside, by what looked like a large piece of furniture. So the financial office was gone. Foggy turns the doorknob of their old office — a part of him expecting to find the door unlocked, they kept forgetting about locking it, there was nothing of value inside anyway — and the door won't budge. Closed, then. Closed, probably unused for years.

He lets out a small sigh. He doesn't know what he expected.

Somehow not _this_.

"Look who's decided to show his face here. I'm almost impressed by your lack of introspection and self-preservation instinct."

He turns around on his heel and stares. Designer pumps, long legs, pencil skirt, a shirt that is barely on the tasteful side of 'too tight', thick file under one arm, raised brows and a headful of brown hair falling onto shoulders in a soft wave. He stares some more.

Marci Stahl just smirks.

 

**27.**

"Marci?" he asks, his voice full of disbelief.

"Astoundingly observant as ever," Marci says. She waves her hand. "Are you just going to stand there like that? At least let me open the door."

He moves to the side. Marci steps up, puts the file under her chin and presses it to her sternum, fumbles with her purse. She fishes out a set of keys with a hum, then she fumbles with the lock. It clicks and the door opens. Marci pushes it and walks inside; Foggy peeks over her shoulder.

The office-- _The office_. It looks like an update version of what they had here years ago, when this space belonged to Nelson, Murdock and Page. There's a sturdy wooden desk where Karen's wobbly one stood, a state-of-art copying machine where that disaster that Karen bought was. A few additional bookcases on both sides of the room. The wall separating their office from the financial one--is _gone_. Foggy blinks. There's still no wall.

Marci drops the thick file on the desk-that-was-Karen's and moves right, opens the door of the room that used to be Foggy's office. She glances at him over her shoulder. "First you were all but camping outside and now you don't even want to enter? Make up your mind, Foggy-Bear."

He steps inside and suddenly cannot breathe. It turns out the wall separating their office from the financial one is not entirely gone; most of it is, though, and a passageway was created between the two. Thanks to that the amount of space pretty much doubled.

"What happened to the wall?" he asks, because it seems like a safe question. There's a million others he'd like to ask, but doesn't know how to phrase.

"We had it removed three years ago," Marci explains. In Foggy's old office, she opens a window and then moves to rummage through shelves of bookcases that weren't there before. "After Kirsten come on board we kind of run out of space. The lovebirds didn't want to share a desk, so we needed extra."

"Kirsten? We?"

"A-ha!" Marci murmurs and picks up one of the folders from the shelf. She straightens and turns towards Foggy. "Yes, Kirsten. McDuffie, you work for her evil corporate father now, surely you've heard."

"I was under the impression that Kirsten worked with--with Matt," Foggy says slowly. The alternative seems ridiculous. "Not with you."

"She does work with her husband dear," Marci replies, her voice turning achingly sweet as it always did when she was being extra mean. "And Murdock in turn works with me. We're all partners at a prestigious law firm, see how these things work out? Foggy-Bear, didn't you notice the sign by the door? 'Murdock, Stahl and McDuffie, attorneys at law'. And damn good attorneys, I may add."

Apparently not as ridiculous. Somehow he manages to keep his jaw from dropping. "You work with _Matt_? _You_ work with Matt?"

"When you bailed on him, someone had to come in and make sure Murdock didn't drown here all on his lonesome. Luckily for him and the world at large, I was still unemployed at the time." Marci seats herself behind the desk and opens the folder. "And when we managed to secure Steve Rogers as a client, I thought that leaving was a bad idea. Who would want to leave a firm that represents _Captain America_?" She looks up at him and smiles sweetly. "Now please get out, some of us actually have work to do and would really like to do it. If you're waiting for one of the lovebirds, you can do that outside of my office. That's what the couch out there is for."

Foggy runs a hand over his face, but drops it when the meaning of the last two sentences dawns on him. Her office. Of course, she worked here, she was a partner here, apparently. But. _Marci's_ office. "This was my office," he says quietly.

"It _was_ your office. And now it is _my_ office," Marci replies. "Crazy how these things change, isn't it. But that's just it. Circle of life, Foggy-Bear." 

 

**28.**

He doesn't wait for the lovebirds.

 

**29.**

That night he cannot sleep. He tosses and turns, throws off the covers and pulls them back up to his nose in turns. His mind keeps insisting on replaying the conversation in the office in its entirety, every little detail open for being overanalysed and worried and despaired over.

It was strange, that was obvious from the start. He's always known that Marci had a mean streak a mile wide and never passed up on an opportunity to be awful to someone, and it was that quality — something he shamefully, but did admit — was what first attracted him to her. Her apparent lack of care and a refreshingly blasé attitude. But this was different. He's never seen Marci being so gleefully vicious before, not even towards the most hated enemies that Marci had in spades while in Columbia.

_Lack of introspection and self-preservation instinct._

And then there was Kirsten, two weeks ago in his office. Someone who's for years now been dreaming about kicking a complete stranger in the face.

For the first time — and God, _this_ is shameful to admit — it occurs to Foggy that he doesn't really know what happened in New York after he left. Karen wasn't very forthcoming with information at first, and then she stopped calling altogether. Anything could have happened in that time, literally anything, and he didn't know. Wouldn't have known.

He's suddenly overcome with a strong feeling that whatever it was that happened, it was nothing good.

He pulls a pillow over his head and tries to sleep.

 

**30.**

He dreams of blood and pain, guns and knives and hammers, antiseptic smell of hospitals, sobs and _screams_ that are not his own, and wakes up tired, covered in sweat and tears.

 

**31.**

An unknown number calls him Sunday afternoon.

Foggy rolls his eyes at the screen — because really? just when he's about to break his own record at Guitar Hero? — but decides to reaches out and pick up the call. The only people who have this number are Wendell, Foggy's assistant, and his dumb interns, though Foggy isn't exactly sure how they got it. It's enough that they did, which — while annoying, because _personal_ number — was also beneficial; the dumb interns had a tendency to cause disasters at any time of day and night, including the weekends, and then called Foggy for help, from a different number every other week.

He was suspecting burner phones, obtained in order to make sure he didn't figure out which one of them had the worst track record.

Or maybe it weren't the numbers that were different every other week, but the interns. Foggy still doesn't recognise most of their faces anyway.

The point is, there is no one in Foggy's life who would have this number and would want something not work-related, so Foggy pauses the game and answers.

"What?" he asks tiredly, but makes sure to throw in a bit of irritation into the question. The intern calling will be terrified come tomorrow morning. It brings him some satisfaction when he thinks about it, and then he realises that he's turning into Parish Landman the Intern Terrorist

He's greeted with silence. Maybe the intern got cold feet. And then, "um, hi, Foggy."

He almost drops the phone.

"It's, um, Matt," Matt says, as if he didn't think that Foggy would recognise his voice anywhere, at any moment. Maybe he doesn't think so. "Am I interrupting you?"

Foggy glances at the paused and abandoned Guitar Hero set. "Not at all," he answers truthfully.

Matt laughs nervously. "That's--That's great. I, uh, Kirsten suggested that I should try, she got your number off Wendell, said it wouldn't hurt to check, so I'm, uh..." Matt trails off. Foggy patiently waits for him to continue. "This is sudden, and you are more than welcome to say 'no', but... Are you doing anything tonight? Because I, uh," Foggy inhales sharply and holds his breath, "becauseIhavefavourtoask."

Foggy blinks.

"Sorry?" he asks. "I didn't catch the last one."

Matt clears his throat. "I, uh, I have a favour to ask."

"Sure?"

"Could you, um, could you babysit Jack for a few hours?"

He phone slips from his grasp again.

"Babysit Jack?" Foggy echoes, because of all the things Matt could have said, this was the one Foggy expected the least.

"Kirsten and I are going to the D.A.'s fundraiser party tonight and we've just lost our help," Matt hastens to explain. "Marci was going to watch him, but she had a family emergency, and everyone else is busy tonight. Kate is in Hamptons with her sister, Claire has a night shift, Luke and Jess are out of town, Clint's back at the farm and Danny is out of the question." Matt pauses for breath. "I'm sorry for asking you so out of the blue, but trust me, I wouldn't be calling if there was _literally_ anyone else I could ask. I promise you I wouldn't, but right now my choices are limited to you and Tony Stark, and the last time I left Jack with Tony Stark, his son and mine blew up half of our apartment. I'm not in a hurry to live through a repeat of that and my insurance wouldn't survive it anyway."

"Uh..."

"You can say 'no'," Matt says. He sounds somewhat hopeful, as if he wanted Foggy to say 'no'.

"No, no, it's--Shit, no, I'd love to," Foggy says. He hears Matt exhale on the other side of the call, but he's not sure if it's in relief or disappointment. "My evening plans consisted of getting drunk to a _Firefly_ rerun and anything beats that. Just tell me when and where and I'll be there."

Matt laughs softly into the phone. He gives Foggy the address and Foggy promises to be there in twenty minutes.

 

**32.**

Jack watches him with an unhappy face.

"Why can't I go with you?" he asks.

"Because it's a very boring party, even worse than Grandpa's, that will end very late," Matt explains patiently, crouching in the hall and holding Jack's hand gently.

"So why can't Aunt Marci stay with me? Or Kate?" Jack pouts. He _pouts_ , makes a sad face, his mouth turns into an upside-down horseshoe, and he looks so much like _Matt_ in that moment — a would-be carbon copy if not for his black hair and slightly darker complexion — that it takes Foggy's breath away. How could he have not seen it instantly?

"Kate's spending the weekend with Susan, you know that," Matt reminds him. "And Aunt Marci's mum got sick, so Aunt Marci had to go and see her. Like we do when Mummy is sick."

Jack nods. "Okay." He looks back at Foggy. "He's okay."

"He is," Matt agrees. "And you know what else? Mr. Franklin really likes dinosaurs."

Jack's eyes widen excitedly and his mouth forms an 'o'. "Really?"

Matt grins. " _Really_." Jack's brilliant smile is directed first at his father, then at Foggy. "Be good, okay?"

"Da-aad."

"Jackie, promise. No blowing up things and don't you even _try_ to convince Mr. Franklin that you're allowed to stay up till midnight. _Promise_."

"Okay," Jack sighs, resigned. "I promise."

"Kiss and hug?"

Jack delivers.

"There's a fruit salad in the fridge in case either of you gets hungry," Kirsten tells Foggy when she appears on the stairs leading to the first floor of their apartment. She looks stunning in a long, crimson dress. "Our numbers are on the fridge. If anything happens, anything at all, call us."

"No problem," Foggy says. Jack moves to his side and slips his hand into Foggy's much larger one. Foggy can't help but squeeze.

Matt gets up. "Thank you for doing this," he says. Runs a hand over his suit jacket. "You're a great--" He pauses, frowns. "You're a great help."

Foggy shrugs. "I shrugged," he says. "And it's no problem at all. I love kids, I've spent most of my teenage years minding various adolescent cousins."

Matt smiles. "Yes, I know." He takes Kirsten's hand. "We'll try to be back around midnight. Spare keys are on the kitchen table, if you'd need them."

"Be good, Jackie," Kirsten adds. She blows him a kiss that Jack 'catches' happily. "Love you very, very much."

"Bye!" Jack waves.

After Matt and Kirsten leave the apartment, Jack turns to Foggy with a grin. "Wanna play Jurassic Park?"

"Why not," Foggy says.

 

**33.**

Jack dumps the contents of his toybox on the living room floor. The sheer number of dinosaur figurines that this boy owns is staggering. They come in all breeds, sizes and colours. Forget about Jurrasic Park, he could have a dinosaur army if he wanted to. Jack picks up two toys; Foggy accepts the T-Rex and brachiosaurus that the kid hands him.

"So you like dinosaurs, huh?"

Jack nods. He divides his toys into groups, puts all the dinosaurs of the same type into separate circles. Like in a zoo, Foggy thinks. "I'm gonna study dinosaurs when I grow up," Jack informs him.

"Before or after you marry Kate Bishop?"

Jack ponders the question for a moment, taps his chin, deep in thought. "After," he decides eventually. "I'm gonna marry Kate and then we'll study dinosaurs together."

Foggy turns the T-Rex in his hand. "But does Kate like dinosaurs?"

Jack opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. He closes it and his expression turns sheepish. He lowers his eyes and starts picking at the rim of his T-shirt, another goddamn adorable Matt-ism that makes Foggy want to cry. "I don't know," Jack admits. "I know she likes arrows and dogs and boxing, she sometimes trains with Daddy."

"You've gotta ask her, Jackie," Foggy tells him with utmost seriousness. "Because what if Kate doesn't like dinosaurs? How can you spend your life with someone who hates what you do?"

"Then I'll study something else," Jack says, equally serious. "Maybe stars like Miss Jane. Or ratatiation like Mr. Bruce and Greg's dad."

 _Radiation_ , Foggy's brain supplements. Foggy shakes his head. "You've really got it bad, don't you, buddy?"

"Kate is the love of my life," Jack informs him with conviction only kids and Matt Murdock were capable of.

"Of course," Foggy agrees, because in the world of Jackie Murdock, age about five, that was most likely true.

Jack turns back to his toys. Two more dinosaurs end up near Foggy; with four of his own he is ready to start building his own dino-zoo. Jack continues dividing the toys between the two of them for a few minutes, every now and again glancing at Foggy's growing pile and plucking a toy from it, taking it back and replacing with a different one. It takes Foggy a moment to notice that all the ones that Jack takes back are small plastic figures in improbable eye-watering colours.

"Where did you get those?"

Jack glances at the blue brontosaurus in his hand. "From the desk in Daddy's office," he explains. "Daddy said I could keep them. Why? Do you like them?" Jack offers him the brontosaurus, despite an unhappy twist of his mouth. These he clearly wants to keep. "Do you want one?"

"No, thank you," Foggy declines. "It's just--I didn't expect to see them again. I bought them, you know? For your dad, right after we finished university."

Jack drops the brontosaurus onto the floor. He stares at Foggy, all interest suddenly transferred from the dinosaur toys to him. "You knew Daddy at school?"

"Yes," Foggy replies. "All through law school."

"Like Miss Jennifer knew Mummy?" Jack keeps up his inquiries. Foggy doesn't know a Miss Jennifer, so he just shrugs. "Do you know any stories about Daddy? Miss Jennifer always tells me funny stories about Mummy, but Daddy doesn't have any friends from school, Aunt Marci wasn't his friend at school. She says she's still not his friend, but Daddy says she's just being silly."

"Oh boy," Foggy tells him as he stands up, it's better to move to the sofa, because this might prove to be a very long conversation. "It's your lucky day, young man, because indeed I know _a lot_ of funny stories about your dad."

Jack beams and scrambles onto his feet, jumps onto the sofa right next to Foggy. After trying out a few positions, he eventually settles comfortably with his head in the crook of Foggy's arm. He looks up at Foggy expectantly.

Foggy clears his throat. "I suppose I could start by telling you how your dad and I met, and that, young Jack, is a really funny story..."

 

**34.**

An unmistakable and annoying sensation of being poked in the side is what wakes him. Foggy opens one eye experimentally and is welcomed first by blinding brightness and then by the sight of big hazel eyes peeking at him curiously.

"Aaargh!" he yells, startled. He quickly finds that his neck hurts like a bitch and his legs are tangled in a blanket. He doesn't own any blankets. He sits up, swings his feet off the sofa and puts them firmly on the ground, and — because life hates him — steps right onto a stegosaurus' spine spikes. "Son of a--!"

"It's half past six," Jack informs him cheerfully. "Daddy said to wake you up because breakfast is ready. Do you like waffles?"

"I, uh..." Jack waits. Foggy looks around. This is--this is Matt's living room. Matt's kid in Matt's living room, he's _still_ in Matt's apartment. What the hell. "Yeah, I--I like waffles."

Jack claps his hands happily. "Cool!"

Foggy doesn't need Jack to lead him into the kitchen; the sweet smell of waffles and one of a freshly made coffee would be enough to point him in the right direction. But since Jack seems more than happy to take his hand and drag him through the apartment, Foggy lets him.

"Good morning," Matt greets him with a tight smile. He's standing by one of the counters, cutting what looks like carrots in neat halves and packing them into two boxes, one empty, one already filled with small, crust-free sandwiches. He looks vaguely uncomfortable and his voice betrays that. "Breakfast's on the table, jam's in the fridge, if you want."

"Good morning," Foggy says back, feeling awkward. He rubs his eyes to avoid looking at anything and anyone. "What--what exactly happened?"

"It was almost 2:30 when we came back," Matt explains, voice tight and controlled. He doesn't like this. "You fell asleep on the sofa, Kirsten didn't have the heart to wake you. It'd have been inhumane to kick you out."

"I--Thank you." Matt nods sharply. "2:30, huh? Had fun?"

"Surprisingly enough, yes. The assistant D.A.'s term of office ends in three months, she won't be running for re-election so she's freshly out of damns to give. It was quite entertaining." Matt cocks his head to the side, listening for something. To something? He points somewhere behind his right shoulder. "Coffee machine is next to the microwave."

Foggy grunts his thanks and moves to pour a cup of coffee. Maybe after an espresso his mind will be able to comprehend what's happening.

"Oh, you're awake, that's great," Kirsten greets him as she storms into the kitchen, hair in disarray and with only one shoe on, the other one in her hand. She leans over the counter next to Matt. "On your left," she tells him and Matt stops chopping whatever it is that he's maiming now and raises his left arm to allow Kirsten to dive under it and grab something. "Thanks, baby."

Kirsten turns to Foggy. "I called Stuart," she tells him, and Foggy's mind freezes for a second, because Stuart who?, before connecting 'Stuart' to 'assistant' and 'occasionally of help'. "He'll pick up a new set of clothes for you and bring it to the office."

"Thank you."

"Do you want me to drop you off there? It's on the way to Jack's school."

"I--" Foggy looks first to Jack, sitting by the kitchen table and nodding like crazy, then to Matt, whose mouth forms a thin line now and whose grip on the knife has turned pretty much deadly. Foggy swallows thickly. "No, that's fine, I'll take the subway."

"It's not a problem," Kirsten insists and throws Matt a look that's completely wasted, because Matt cannot see facial expressions. "We owe you one."

Foggy looks back to Jack and smiles fondly. The kid is back at munching his waffles with fruits and is smiling happily. "You don't owe me anything," he says truthfully, "it was an absolute pleasure. He's a great kid."

"Which reminds me," Matt interrupts. "Are you picking up our great kid today?"

"I can't," Kirsten answers, "court. Danny is."

Matt drops the knife. "Danny," he repeats. " _Danny_? Why can't Luke do it? Danny is--Kirsten, he's borderline irresponsible."

"Luke can't do it, because we're all _busy people_ , Matt." Kirsten throws up her hands, exasperated. "Besides, I thought Danny was your friend."

"Only sort of," Matt counters. "Barely. By proxy."

Kirsten huffs and crosses her hands over her chest. "We don't have the time for this. Danny Rand is picking up your son from pre-school today and then is taking him and Danielle to the zoo. Matt, come on. Danny can handle Jack for three hours."

An unpleasant smile twists Matt's lips. "I have two words for you," he tells Kirsten and slowly extends two fingers, counting out the words, "last. Halloween."

Kirsten makes a face. She pulls her lips and bites the inside of her cheek. A hand travels to her nape and she starts rubbing. "I see your point," she says. "Do we have anyone who could accompany them?"

"Wanda maybe?" Matt suggests.

Kirsten shakes her head. "Peter?" she offers instead. Matt makes an unhappy sound. "You know what, fine, I'll call Wanda."

"Splendid idea," Matt says dryly.

"Miss Wanda loves the zoo!" Jack says. He chooses exactly that moment to chip into the conversation, smart kid. He drops his fork and jumps off his chair. "Done!" he announces and runs to the hall.

"Lunch!" Matt calls after him.

Jack comes back with his shoes on, but not laced, wearing an Iron Man backpack. Foggy wonders if Matt knows and — considering his distinct lack of fondness towards Tony Stark — what he thinks of it if he does. Jack pads towards the counter and grabs the plastic lunchbox that Matt pushes at him. Doesn't quite manage to avoid the kiss that Matt presses into his hair.

"You've got everything?" Kirsten asks Jack. The kid nods. "Crayons, glitter, swimming suit? Lunch?"

"Yes, Mummy."

"Okay." She makes a sweeping motion towards the door. "Off with you, mister."

"Bye, Daddy!" Jack says and waves. "Bye, Mr. Franklin."

Foggy waves back.

"Shoelaces!" Matt reminds.

"I'll tie them in the car," Kirsten ensures him with a smile. She grabs a set of keys and throws them into her bag. Walks into the kitchen, takes a bottle of water and a box full of carrots that Matt hands her. "I'll see you at the office."

"I'll pick up our tickets on my way home."

"My hero," Kirsten coos and kisses him. "Love you, baby."

"Mhm, nope." Matt points at himself. " _More_."

Kirsten laughs and punches him in the shoulder playfully. She throws the water bottle and the box with carrots into her bag as well. "Yeah. You wish."

Matt's smile turns into a full-on grin. "I don't have to."

"I don't believe you, you-- _you_."

Kirsten shakes her head and goes back into the hall and then out of the apartment after Jack, followed out by Matt's warm laugh. Foggy wishes he could turn invisible, feeling out of place and quite frankly _intruding_ upon this lovely scene of everyday family life.

Matt's laugh dies out. He grinds his teeth and tries very hard to look — well, not _look_ exactly, but focus his attention — at anything else but Foggy. And, yeah, Foggy is old enough and mature enough to recognise when his presence slithers into the 'uncomfortable' and 'unwanted' territory and to accept it with grace. Which is precisely what he does now.

He gulps down rest of the coffee and puts the mug in the kitchen sink. "Thanks for the coffee," he murmurs, for the lack of anything better to say.

Matt nods. "Thank you for coming," he says quietly, "I know it was sudden and inconvenient. I--I really didn't want to have to call you."

"Yeah," Foggy says. "Yeah, I figured."

 

**35.**

Monday morning in office greets him with the news that one of the interns _did_ manage to fuck something up over the weekend, passed the wrong information to one of Foggy's subordinates, said subordinate gave the wrong advice to one of their potential clients, the client assumed she was being set up, got angry and withdrew from negotiations.

It all happened in the span of some eight hours, when Foggy turned his phone off because he went babysitting his former best friend's kid.

One evening. He allowed himself one evening of indulging in an improbable fantasy of a world in which Matt Murdock didn't consider him a necessary evil and in which there was still some remnant of their old friendship left to salvage. One evening, and the universe was bent on repaying him with a goddamn corpo Armageddon. 

He spends an hour yelling at everyone within sight, another two hanging off three different phone calls at the same time, trying to find out if there was any possibility to save this deal.

There wasn't.

He spends another two hours yelling at the subordinate, because _Jesus_ there were rules and there were procedures, you didn't just go passing on unverified information without your boss' explicit approval. Foggy was the boss and he most certainly didn't approve of anything, he's spent the entire evening making Jack Murdock laugh over his father's uni misadventures, and no answer from the boss should never be considered the same as approval.

He fires the poor guy. It's not a HR-approved decision, but _damn_ , it's his department and he'll fire people if he wants to, HR will agree with him eventually.

The guy — and Foggy doesn't even know his _name_ , holy shit, they've been working together for half a year and Foggy doesn't even know his name — takes it like a champion, just nods and goes pack his stuff, takes a bonsai tree off his desk and a picture of a woman and two little girls (wife and daughters?) and throws it into a small cardboard box.

Foggy feels like shit for the reminder of the day.

 

**36.**

He's in court on Friday, filing some forms or other, when he hears that Matt has a hearing today. He finishes up with the forms and all but runs to courtroom 2, where he slips in unnoticed and sits in the last row.

Matt is there with Marci and their client, an elderly woman that reminds Foggy of Elena (he hasn't thought about Elena in years, can't even remember what her surname was, damn). It must be one of their _pro bono_ cases, because Marci doesn't look happy, but she's clearly on board with everything because she kills it when she tears into the prosecution's witness on the stand.

But it's Matt who's the real star here, and it's almost like watching a play unfold before his eyes. Matt's always been good in court, was great at closing statements and pointed speeches, but he's clearly grown into his own over all those years. Foggy suddenly understands what those two young women meant months ago when they talked about Matt Murdock slaying the D.A.; the D.A. is there and probably is even trying his best, but he's no match for Matt and they both _know it_.

Foggy would say that this obvious push-and-pull between them looks like a tennis match, but that would give the D.A. too much credit. It is more like Matt bouncing tennis balls off a stunned and unresponsive wall.

The D.A.'s assistant is there too, but she's not even trying to help and yeah, Matt was right, no damns left in that woman.

Foggy has to restrain himself from standing up and clapping after Matt's closing statement, because _shit_ it was a thing of beauty, a 'mic drop' moment if he ever saw one. And Marci turns in her seat and notices him, arches a brow at him, but doesn't tell Matt, just turns back and waits for the judge to deliver the verdict.

Foggy leaves before that happens. He doesn't need to stay to know that Matt and Marci won that case, and waiting for the judgment to be announced would mean the possibility of Marci coming up to him, or _Matt_ coming up to him, and that would be awkward for everyone.

So he leaves.

On his way back to the office he realises that he hasn't been in a courtroom as an actual _defence attorney_ for almost five years now, and damn, that's a depressing thought.

The wobbly pile of new contracts to review, approve of and sign off for someone else to handle that is waiting for him on his desk is equally depressing.

 

**37.**

With some reluctance he admits before himself that he grew to absolutely _despise_ his job.

 

**38.**

He spends the weekend watching _Star Trek_ Blu-Rays with his porter.

George is an amazing man, the best friend Foggy currently has, and he listens patiently to a progressively drunker Foggy, who despairs and moans and _cries_ in George's little porter booth.

Foggy is sure George's not getting paid nearly enough to have to deal with him.

"Do you even have any clue what you're doing with your life anymore?" George asks eventually and takes a bottle of whiskey away from Foggy. 

It's an expensive whiskey, because Foggy can now afford the expensive and good stuff, and because while cheap alcohol goes great together with good friends, no friends can only be dealt with the _really_ good stuff.

Foggy cannot answer that question, because he honestly has no idea.

 

**39.**

Matt calls him on a Tuesday.

"Matt," Foggy breathes into his phone and tries very hard not to sound hopeful. They haven't exchanged a word since the morning after the D.A.'s fundraiser two weeks prior. Foggy was ready to accept that that was it, the extent of their relationship, the occasional babysitting when everyone else that Matt knows was unavailable. And yet here we are, a phone call.

"Hi, Mr. Franklin!"

"Jack?" Foggy asks, because it certainly does sound like Jack, but what the hell is Jack doing with Matt's phone.

"Do you like lasagna, Mr. Franklin?" Jack asks happily, completely undeterred by the sudden suspiciousness in Foggy's voice.

"I like lasagna, only crazy people don't," Foggy tells him. "Jack, does your dad know you have his phone?"

"Yup! I liked playing dinosaurs with you, can we play again, Mummy and Aunt Marci are going rock climbing and there will be lasagna, and we could play some more and you can have all the tiny dinosaurs this time."

What.

"Okay...?"

Foggy hears a sigh on the other side of the call. "Jackie," Matt says, his voice muffled, "what did you want to ask Mr. Franklin?"

"He said he likes lasagna," Jack answers, and his voice is quieter too, now, he must have turned his head to address his father.

"And what else did you want to ask...?" Matt prompts.

"Oh!" Jack huffs into the phone. "Do you want to have dinner with us?"

What?

"I'd love to," Foggy answers immediately, before the offer is rescinded or it turns out to be a joke.

"Cool!"

Foggy manages to hear an exasperated "Jack!" from Matt before the line goes dead. Huh. Foggy looks at his mobile. The call was ended. It didn't cut off due to external factors, Jack literally hang up on him. Bizarre, that. Most likely a joke, then. 

Foggy doesn't even have the time to put it down before the phone buzzes again. Matt's cell, again.

"Hanging up on people is quite rude, young Jack," he says as he picks up, settling on the most benevolent-mentor-like voice that he can manage. Yoda he is not, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try.

"It's Matt."

Crap. Of course it's Matt.

"Hey," Foggy forces out. Awkward as hell. "So, uh. I heard something about a dinner?"

"Yeah," Matt laughs softly. "Jack got overly excited, he wanted to call you all on his own. In his excitement he forgot about the basic features of an invitation, like the date and time. So. This Saturday, five-ish? Lasagna indeed will be there."

"Sounds great," Foggy murmurs. It's not like he ever has plans for the weekends. There are only that many Saturdays you can spend catching horses on Red Dead Redemption. But there's one important factor to consider. "Why are you doing this, Matt?"

"It's a thank you," Matt says and for some reason Foggy thinks that it's bullshit, "for the babysitting. And, uh, also an apology? For somewhat contributing to the disaster that immediately followed that."

He means the disaster at the office. He must mean the disaster at the office, because what else could he be talking about? Foggy feels a pang of guilt when he thinks of the guy he fired. He still doesn't know what his name was. "How did you know about that?"

Matt giggles. He _giggles_ , honest-to-God giggles, and it's a sound Foggy hasn't heard since law school. "You do work for my father-in-law, you know," he reminds Foggy. "I know a _lot_ of things."

"Do you now," Foggy murmurs, but he can't help the amusement that creeps into his voice. "Five-ish, you say?"

"Yup."

"Alright. And thank you. It's very kind of you. I'll--see you on Saturday."

 

**40.**

Foggy would like to say that he doesn't count the days till Saturday like a kid waiting for summer holidays or a dumb teenager waiting for their first date, but that would be lying.

He does. He really fucking _does_.

 

**41.**

Early Saturday afternoon Foggy spends way too much time in front of his wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear. It's completely ridiculous, it's just a dinner with Matt and his family, it's not a formal job interview that will decide about the rest of his life. At least that's what Foggy tells himself. It doesn't help. He's survived various official interviews, including the one for the internship at Landman and Zack, and this is so much worse. He's more nervous than he ever remembers being, and he's trying to decide between a suit (don't be dumb, Nelson, it's not an official function) and a simple T-shirt and jeans (but what if it's too casual?). Reminding himself that it doesn't matter, that not only has Matt lived with him for years and experienced him in various states of dishabille, he won't see it anyway, also does nothing to soothe his nerves.

He ends up putting on a dress shirt and jeans. Best of both worlds.

At precisely five o'clock in the afternoon Foggy stands in front of the door to Matt's apartment and raises his hand to knock. The door opens before he even has the chance to. Foggy blinks, confused, and looks down. Jack is grinning widely.

"Were you waiting by the door?" Foggy asks.

Jack, if it's even possible, grins wider. "Daddy said he heard you being nervous," he informs Foggy casually, as if that was the kind of thing that was absolutely normal.

And it was.

When Foggy tries to look for that old and worn-thin long-ago irritation at Matt's particular gifts — powers, talents, abilities, whatever — he finds it gone. He's actually glad that it's something that's in the open in this house, no more shit secret keeping, Matt learnt that lesson. Plus, how many kids could say that their dad was a superhero, after all?

Probably more than he realised, come to think of it.

Jack leads him into the kitchen and tells him to sit at the table there. He disappears out of it again, smart, kid, because the kitchen is a _warzone_.

"Hey, Matt," Foggy greets him warmly.

Matt only huffs, navigating between two pots and the oven. His kitchen skills are still abysmal, then. Good to know some things never changed.

"Hey," Matt says back, and reaches for one of the spice boxes. "We've run out of beer, sorry, but there's lemonade in the fridge if you want some. Homemade, we regularly get some now from one of our former clients. Marci is in heaven."

"I'm fine, thanks." Foggy frowns as he notices Matt's hand hovering over the boxes, undecidedly. He moves his hand back and forth, as if unsure. "It's saffron, salt, black pepper and what appears to be curry, I think, starting from the left."

Matt grabs the salt. "Thank you," he says. "I got them mixed up."

"Can't you smell the contents?"

Matt smiles. "Do you honestly think I'd still be here if I could?" He shakes his head. "Kirsten loves potent spices, we have a lot of those. If I could smell any of that, I'd have to move out."

"Makes sense." Foggy looks around. "Kirsten at home?"

"Out rock climbing with Marci." Matt frowns. "Didn't Jack say?"

Now come to think of it, Jack did mention something about rock climbing. Foggy was just so overwhelmed with the invitation that he failed to file that information for later.

"Wait," Foggy says, "so it's just you, Jack and me?"

Matt makes a non-committal sound, but doesn't out right deny that.

"That's for you!" Jack runs back into the kitchen with a piece of paper in hand. He thrusts it into Foggy's hands with a smile. "We had to make a picture in arts and I made one for you!"

Foggy blinks, stunned. "Oh, Jack, thank you," he murmurs as he takes the paper, "you didn't have to."

"I know," Jack says. "I wanted to."

It's obviously a picture made by a child. The people in it are stick figures with too long arms and too big heads, the sun is just a quarter-circle in the corner, everything is coloured with crayons and doused in too much glitter. Foggy's eyes water.

It's _perfect_.

"This is me," Jack points at the smaller stick figure, "and this is you. We're riding dinosaurs."

"Jack, this is absolutely amazing," Foggy says and Jack beams with pride. "I'd suggest putting this in a museum, but then I'd have to part with this and that is never gonna happen."

Matt snorts. Foggy looks to him, puzzled, and realises that he's trying not to laugh.

"Daddy, can I show Mr. Franklin my room before dinner?" Jack asks.

"If you're sure you can find it in all that mess..."

"Yup!" Jack grabs the sleeve of Foggy's shirt and tugs. "Let's go! It's upstairs!"

He tugs him off the chair with a clear intention of making Foggy follow him. Foggy does; he folds Jack's picture and hides it in the breastpocket of his shirt. The last time he was in Matt's apartment he was first too busy observing Matt's interactions with Jack and then dressing up to flee, he didn't have the time to take a proper look at the hall and the staircase leading to the first floor.

He has the time now.

Matt's old apartment in Hell's Kitchen was a sparsely furnished, bare thing with hardly anything that could count as decoration, if one excluded the billboard. This apartment clearly belongs to a family.

The wall of the staircase is full of framed--collages, Foggy thinks is the word. Big sheets of decorative paper with photos glued to it. But no, not only photos. Tickets, leaflets, scraps of materials, various tokens. The one from Matt's wedding even has the wedding invitation. But it's not that one — albeit a beautiful one, Matt looked so happy and Kirsten looked radiant — that catches Foggy's attention.

There's one from what Foggy assumes was a family holiday, because most of the photos were taken on a beach. It's one of those that makes Foggy stop on his way up.

As far as holiday photos go, it's nothing unusual. Matt and Kirsten stroll in shallow water with Jack between them, holding his parents' hands, hanging off of them and swinging with a grin so wide it should be physically impossible. Kirstin has been caught laughing, a sparkle in her eyes somehow immortalised in the photo.

But it's Matt that makes Foggy stop and look, for two reasons.

In the picture, Matt is taking a stroll on a beach, relaxed, shirtless and tanned, the scars on his stomach, chest and arms a pale contrast on his skin. And there are _so many_ of them; some Foggy recognises, a few he even saw Claire stitch up, but there are many new ones. Six years' worth of new scars clearly visible on Matt's body. That's one reason. But even _that_ is not the most shocking thing that makes Foggy pause with one foot on the next step. It's--It's Matt's expression. Foggy has seen it before, caught it a few times as far back as law school. Marci had a name for it. The heart-eyes expression, she used to call it. She would snicker and mock and laugh, and Foggy would tell her that she was delusional. But the picture captured so much love and affection in Matt's expression that Foggy thinks Marci perhaps might have had a point.

"Coming?" Jack asks from the top of the stairs.

Foggy resumes his walk up.

 

**42.**

Half an hour later they're once more sitting by the table in Matt's kitchen, all three of them. There's lasagna on the table and four glasses with lemonade. Four glasses. Fours plates and four sets of cutlery. Matt didn't deny when Foggy asked if it would be just the three of them at the dinner, but he didn't confirm it either.

Jack keeps throwing stormy looks at his father, because Matt's wearing that infuriating 'I know more than I let on' face. It's good to know that it's universally irritating to people of all ages.

"There's a surprise waiting for you at the door," Matt tells Jack eventually.

Jack's eyes narrow with suspicion, but he hastily gets off the chair and to the hall. Foggy hears him pad to the door, he hears the door creak open, and then there's only the shriek of a delighted child. Foggy looks to Matt, who's trying to hide his smile behind a clenched fist.

Foggy opens his mouth to ask what was that about when he hears it, coming from the hall, breathless and happy, "how's my favourite godson?"

"Your only godson!"

"Which is why you're my favourite, obviously," Karen Page laughs warmly as she walks into the kitchen, arms full of the kid.

Foggy is frozen in his seat. Matt, however, moves his chair back and stands up abruptly, walks towards Karen. Karen squeals — _squeals_ — and puts Jack down only to throw her arms around Matt's neck.

"Took you long enough," Matt says.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Karen says, still breathless and still happy. "The flight was delayed, a volcano again. But I'm back, I'm _back_ , God, Matt, you have no idea how happy I am to be back."

"Not as happy as we are to have you back," Matt tells her. Then he drops his voice and adds quietly, perhaps hoping that Foggy won't hear, "please don't freak out, I know what I'm doing."

Karen's frowning when she lets go of Matt and finally gets to look around the kitchen. It's only then that she notices Foggy, who shifts in his chair nervously. Confusion, recognition, shock, anger and worry all appear in quick succession on Karen's face.

"Foggy," she greets him and there's nothing of the warmth with which she addressed Matt and Jack left in her voice. She sounds nothing like the Karen he remembers.

Jack grabs Karen's hand and swings it. "Can we eat now?" he asks.

That seems to break the spell.

"I made lasagna," Matt tells Karen as they all join Foggy by the table, Jack between Karen and his father, Matt on Foggy's left, facing Karen.

Karen snorts. "No," she says, "you made a lasagna-like item. I swear, those super senses of yours allow you to pick up on every ingredient in my recipe, how do you still mess it up?"

"I can pick up on all the ingredients, true, but my super senses do not make me any better at combining them," Matt laughs.

"You're a rubbish cook, Matt."

"Jack doesn't complain."

Jack makes a face. "I like Auntie Karen's cooking better."

Karen bursts out laughing and Foggy finds himself joining in. Even Jack giggles.

"So," Karen says after all the laughter at Matt's expense has run its course, "Foggy Nelson. Back in New York. How did that happen?"

"I got a job here," Foggy shrugs. "About six months ago."

Karen raises a brow and looks at Matt. He must sense her gaze on him, because he shrugs as well. "About two weeks after you left."

"Wow." Karen shakes her head. "I go away for the first time in three years and the impossible happens. We really do live in the age of miracles."

"An you know what's the best part?" Matt points a fork at her. "He works for _Wendell_."

"You're joking." Matt grins and shakes his head 'no'. "Your pompous father-in-law Wendell? Better beware, Matt," Karen tells him seriously, "the universe is conspiring against you."

"It's not so bad," Foggy cuts in, for some reason feeling obliged to defend his job, his boss, cosmic coincidences and the universe in general.

"How was Europe, Aunt Karen?" Jack asks suddenly, before Karen has a chance to come up with a retort.

Her gaze turns softer when she looks at the kid. "Beautiful," she tells him. "Very, very green. There are boats in the cities and you can use them and not taxis. There are many very old buildings. I'll show you the pictures after dinner, okay? I'll show you the pictures, and the presents."

"Presents!" Jack exclaims excitedly.

Matt arches a brow. "Are you glad that Skye pulled a few strings _now_?" he asks with a grin.

"God, _yes_ ," Karen says. "Matt, you have no idea, it was absolutely _amazing_. Adventure of a lifetime."

"Where in Europe were you?" Foggy asks, honestly curious.

Karen regards him with narrowed eyes, but decides to grace his question with an answer. "The Netherlands," she tells him. "In the Hague. I had a research internship at the ICC."

Foggy's eyes widen. "Research internship? The ICC? Wow, Karen, that's amazing."

"She's writing a PhD," Matt tells him proudly.

Karen blushes. "Just because I have a boss who graciously allows me to leave whenever I want and need."

"Well," Matt says, "you always come back."

"Of course I do," Karen tells Matt, but her eyes are fixed on Foggy.

 

**43.**

"This reminds me of your first day at the office," Foggy tells Karen.

"True," Matt laughs.

"Absolutely not," Karen says sharply.

 

**44.**

After dinner — and dessert and a q&a session during which Karen found out what her godson was up to in the seven months she's been gone — Jack drags Karen away, demanding to see pictures of canal streets and the presents that Karen brought back from Europe. Foggy stays in the kitchen to help Matt with the dishes.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather look at Karen's Dutch photos?"

Foggy thinks about Karen's icy attitude and shakes his head. "I shook my head. No, I'd actually rather help you with the washing up."

Matt laughs and throws a wet tea towel at him. Foggy gets hit right in the face.

"Touché," Foggy murmurs. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"One of the collages in the hall..."

"That's Dana's work," Matt tells him. "Kirsten's step-mother. They don't get on spectacularly well, so Dana likes to make gifts for her. Collages. We still have at least four we have no idea where to put. There are worse tings she could be making, though. Vases, for example."

"There's one from a holiday, I believe," Foggy trails off and wonders where is he going with these questions. What does he even want to ask about? The scars? They're hardly a surprise, after all. That _look_? Matt being happy? Matt looking like he's in love? It's not like Matt even knows what he looks like in that photo. "Where was that?"

"The Caribbean," Matt says. Foggy whistles and makes Matt chuckle. "Don't get too excited, we couldn't afford that. Wendell owns a yacht. He wanted to spend more time with his daughter and apparently decided that taking her family on a cruise around the Caribbean was the way to do it."

"That must have been an amazing holiday."

Matt gets a pained look on his face. "It was for Kirsten and Jack. She loves sailing and he got really into that, and the idea of open water diving. Hence the swimming lessons. Wendell promised to take them to Hawaii this year."

"You didn't enjoy it?" Foggy asks, noting as well that Wendell was apparently only taking his daughter and grandson to Hawaii and has not extended the invitation to include his son-in-law.

"Water confuses me and muddles my senses, so I hate swimming." Matt smiles bitterly. "And it turned out that I get seasick easily. Wendell was--less than thrilled about that development."

" _Oh_ ," Foggy says. It made sense, Matt getting seasick because of his heightened and sensitive senses.

Foggy thinks he remembers the day Wendell came back from last year's holiday, months ago, when Foggy was still working at the San Francisco office. Wendell was happy that he got to spend his holiday with his daughter from the East Coast. But Foggy also remembers Wendell complaining to everyone who was willing to listen.

_Sea quiet and as smooth as glass, and he claims he feels sick, throws up for most of the morning. I honestly don't know what she sees in him._

It was Matt that Wendell meant. It was Matt that Wendell was complaining about all those months ago, and Foggy _laughed_ with him the way you were supposed to when your boss told you about the person who made their holiday miserable.

Foggy finds himself getting angry at Wendell for the very first time.

It's not a bad feeling.

 

**45.**

"What did you do to him today?" Karen asks as she enters the kitchen. At Matt's raised brows she points behind herself at the staircase. "Jackie? I was showing him the Amsterdam pictures and he just fell asleep. We didn't see most of the pics, we didn't even get to the presents yet! What did you do today?"

"Softball in Central Park," Matt says. "Barton's in town with his kids, Luke brought Dani, they played a few rounds. But this might be a good thing," he adds, "Jack falling asleep. Otherwise you'd have to show those pictures all over again to Kirsten."

"I don't mind coming over again, Matt," Karen grins, "as long as you don't cook."

"Very funny," he murmurs. "You're staying?"

Karen shakes her head. "I need to go back home, take a long bath, sleep in my own bed for the first time in seven months. My _own bed_ , Matt."

"Well. It is a nice bed."

Foggy looks at his watch. Nine o'clock. "I should get going too," he says. "I need to be at the office early tomorrow."

"Foggy, it's Sunday," Matt reminds.

"And we still have a potential client coming in for a talk." Foggy grins. "The publishing business is not for the weak, Murdock."

Matt walks them to the door. He hugs Karen and bids Foggy goodbye with a wave of his hand. Foggy and Karen get into the elevator together; Karen is trying very hard to look anywhere but at him.

"So," he starts, "a PhD. What's the topic?"

Karen shoots him an irritated glance. "The international criminal jurisdiction over superpowered individuals," she tells him nevertheless.

"Wow."

She nods. They fall silent again. Once they get out of the elevator, Karen rushes towards the door; Foggy follows her.

"Karen!" he calls after her. "Are you taking a taxi?"

"I'm going to take a walk."

She leaves the building and starts walking, towards the park. It's going to be summer soon and the days are long now, so it's still quite bright outside. The sun is setting over New York and reflects gold in Karen's hair. 

Foggy catches up with her. "Do you mind if I join you?"

She huffs angrily. "Yes, actually, I do."

"You're angry with me."

"No shit," Karen says.

"Because I left."

"Because you--" She starts laughing, loud and hollow. It's an ugly laugh. Karen he remembers never laughed like that. "That's certainly one way to put it."

Foggy frowns. "I don't follow."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't, actually." She looks at him, clearly surprised. "Karen. I don't know what happened after I... left."

Karen blinks. "You mean he didn't--" She sighs and hits her forehead. "Karen, you dumb idiot. _Of course_ he didn't tell you. It took him a year and a half to tell Kirsten, and he didn't have any complicated history with her."

Foggy catches her elbow. "Karen, please," he says quietly. "I want to know."

She laughs. "I doubt that," she says. "But you definitely _should_ know." She rolls her eyes. "Fine. Walk me home."

They walk in silence for a few minutes. Foggy wonders if Karen still lives in the same apartment she did before. Before he gets the chance to ask, Karen takes up her story.

"The first two months after you left were hell," she tells him. "Matt was miserable, kept blaming himself and I didn't understand why, because what could he have done to help you? It was--a bad time, for both of us. And then Marci came, started bossing us around, but it turned out for the best, because finally there was a reason to do anything. The added bonus was the fact that it took her a week and a half to figure out that Matt was Daredevil."

Karen chuckles, then carries on, "I couldn't believe it at first. Matt? But he admitted that she was right, and she guilt-tripped him into telling us everything. Then I understood, why Matt felt guilty, why you blamed him. It _was_ his fault, in part. It wasn't good, but it was okay, those first few weeks with Marci. She got a temporary job filling for you, and we just kept waiting for you to come back. It was tough, the fact that you didn't talk with anyone but me, but we knew that you were getting better, so there was that. We waited. Nothing was getting better for us, especially for Matt, and now I'm pretty sure that he flat out stopped eating at some point, but I didn't notice it at the time. We kept waiting. _Matt_ kept waiting. After six months your landlord called him, told him that he got an offer on your flat and was going to rent it again. He told him that he was willing to wait one more month and then someone would have to come and pack your stuff."

"It didn't get thrown away?" Foggy asks. There were some photo albums in there that he'd like to get back and thought lost forever now.

"No." Karen shakes her head. "At the end of that extra month Matt and I went to your place and packed everything. We got all the boxes into storage, turned your keys in to the landlord, and went home. The next thing I know, Marci is calling me, telling me to go to the office and get anything that was signed by Matt, because she needs a sample of his handwriting and signature, and then to get my ass to Metro-General as quickly as I can, because it's _really bad_ \--"

"Wait, hold up a second." Foggy swallows thickly. "I don't--I don't understand, Metro-General is a hospital, why a hospital, what happened?"

"Do you _truly_ need me to spell it out for you?" Karen asks, faintly disgusted. She shakes her head again. "Fine, you know what, _fine_. After we got all your stuff in storage, each of us went home. I went home, got a tub of ice cream from my freezer and decided to binge watch _Gilmore Girls_ , the way I used to after Union Allied. So while I was crying into my Ben&Jerry's, Matt went back to his place and tried to _kill himself_."

Foggy's heart stops. He's--he's pretty sure that it stops beating. He goes as white as a sheet. His heart still stubbornly refuses to move.

"Thank God for Marci and her workaholism, otherwise no one would have known for _days_ , it was a goddamn _Friday evening_. Thankfully Marci is stubborn and paranoid, so she found him. She saved his life." Karen looks at Foggy pointedly, and her eyes are hard and cold as ice. "She called you. She called you a hundred times. _I_ called you a hundred times, left dozens of voice messages. 'Hi, Foggy, sorry to bother you, but your best friend Matt's _dying_ , maybe you could give a crap?' But you never answered. You never called back."

"I--"

"Marci had to forge a power of attorney letter so that we could do anything, have any say whatsoever when it came to Matt. Things like 'please don't keep him heavily sedated' or 'the smell of antiseptic makes him puke'. These are the things a next of kin usually says and handles, but _you_ were listed as his next of kin and you weren't _picking up the damn phone_. So Marci risked her career and committed forgery, Claire then helped us get it into the hospital files. The two weeks Matt spent in the hospital were the worst two weeks of my life, and I think that says a lot."

"I never called you again after that," Karen admits after a short pause. "You weren't worth it."

Foggy runs a hand over his eyes. It shakes all the way. "Why--why would Matt--"

"Because he loved you." Foggy makes a small noise. He knew that Matt loved him, he loved Matt too, they _were_ best friends, pretty much a family, but it still didn't explain. Some of his confusion must have shown on his face, because Karen continued, "I mean... He was _in love_ with you."

"No," Foggy says and it comes out like a small laugh. That's just ridiculous. Matt the notorious single? Mr. One-Date Man? In love? With _him_? "No, that's--No. No, Karen, _no_."

Karen shakes her head sadly. "Marci swore up and down that you didn't know, and I didn't believe her at first. How could you not have known? Matt was your best friend, there were days when you would spend eighteen hours straight together. How could you have _possibly_ not known? I couldn't wrap my mind around it."

"I didn't," Foggy whispers. He feels as if his stomach got filled with lead and dropped to rest somewhere around his knees.

"Yeah, I know that now. I used to think that you wouldn't have pulled that shit if you knew. I understand that you were hurt and you blamed Matt, but that was-- _cruel_. You told us that you'd be back and then you left, and you never once talked to him. Not once. Matt loved and missed you, and you didn't even have the decency to pick up a phone and call him. You could have told him that you weren't coming back, that you blamed him for everything and never wanted to see him again. Just one phone call to get him to _stop hoping_. That's an asshole thing to do and still would have been kinder than what you did."

Karen stops him in the middle of the sidewalk by pressing a hand to his chest. She looks straight at him and her voice is sharp. "And now you're back," she says quietly. "I don't know why or what you want, but I won't let you hurt him again. Matt's happy now, and getting to this point was not easy. I will not let you fuck this up. I'll _kill you_ before that happens."

She pats his chest, small movement of her hand against the material of his shirt, right over the pocket where he put Jack's folded picture.

"I can walk the rest of the way alone."

 

**46.**

Alcohol becomes his best friend the moment he steps into his apartment. It even makes him call Marci.

"Why didn't you tell me?" the tequila in his blood slurs into the phone.

"Foggy, it's 2:50am on my day off," Marci hisses in reply.

"You didn't tell me," Foggy says, takes the half-empty bottle in hand and takes a swig . "Why didn't you tell me?"

She doesn't even have to ask what he's talking about. She knows. She just _knows_. Fucking hell, they all just know. No wonder Kirsten dreamt of kicking him in the face. He'd love to kick himself.

"I promised myself that if I'd ever see you again, the heel of my shoe up your ass would be last thing you felt in your life," Marci says sweetly. "But I grew to love my Manolos, and you weren't worth it, so by the time you reappeared, I've come to the conclusion that it was better to leave that matter where it belonged, in the past."

"You should have told me."

"Perhaps. Next time I'll remember." She sighs. "Now fuck off, Foggy-Bear."

She hangs up. He hurls the phone at the wall.

 

**47.**

He doesn't go to work. In the five years he's worked at this company, he never once took sick leave. He's plenty sick now, sick because of the alcohol, sick because of what Karen told him, sick because he's an asshole, sick because Matt still _smiles_ at him.

No one makes a fuss. They wish him a swift recovery and Foggy laughs and hiccups and wishes the earth could swallow him whole.

 

**48.**

Matt calls him on Wednesday.

It's a new phone that buzzes on his desk, the previous one having been destroyed in mysterious circumstances that he refuses to provide the details of.

Foggy takes one look at the caller id and feels instantly sick.

He doesn't answer that call, nor any of the six that follow.

 

**49.**

The rest of the week passes in a blur; he's the first person at the office in the morning and he's the last to leave, in the dead of the night, long after even the janitor has left. Foggy tries to bury himself in work, but it doesn't work as well as it did in the past.

When the weekend rolls around, he hits the bottle. The floor of his living room is quite cozy, so he sits there, surrounded by progressively more empty bottles of gin, and stares at the wall. It's a nice wall, in a soothing shade of peach. Foggy tries very hard to numb himself into not thinking and to resist the urge to throw his buzzing phone off the balcony.

He spends a lot of time thinking about Matt anyway. The phone survives.

Somehow he manages to drag himself to work come Monday morning. His smiles are strained and he curses everyone in his mind. He _hates_ this job.

The week goes on.

Rinse and repeat.

 

**50.**

On Friday morning an unknown number appears on the screen when his mobile starts buzzing cheerfully. Foggy eyes it suspiciously, but decides that it's rather unlikely that Matt would steep down to tactics such as using burner phones to try and reach him.

It's not like he'd be worth it, anyway.

Deciding that he's probably safe, Foggy picks up. "Yes?"

"Hi, Franklin," says the woman on the other side of the connection, "it's Kirsten."

"Kirsten," Foggy says, throat suddenly tight. God, oh God. "I'm sorry, Kirsten, but I'm busy at work--"

"This is a professional call," Kirsten says. "There's this case I'm handling, it involves questions of copyright, and I've always been crap at intellectual property law. I'm calling for help."

"Help," Foggy repeats. He takes a deep breath. "If you could send me the files, I'll--"

"It's more urgent than that," Kirsten interrupts him. "I need to know _something_ before 3pm. Perhaps we could meet over lunch and you'd fill me in with the basics?"

Foggy glances at his watch. 12:45pm. Damn it. He doesn't want to do this. "My lunch break starts in half an hour," he tells Kirsten, resigned. "Take your case files and meet me at the Italian place down the block from the office. You know which one?"

"The cute corner place, I know." Kirsten sighs in relief. "Thank you, Franklin, you're saving my life."

Foggy grunts his acknowledgement and hangs up. Only after he does it it occurs to him that — while he is pretty much what passes as a specialist these days — there are at least six other people Kirsten could have discussed this with, including her own husband.

 

**51.**

It's precisely 1:14pm when Foggy gets to the Italian bistro, and Kirsten is already there. She's sitting by a small table in the back of the restaurant, and she waves at him when she notices his entry. He joins her by the table and takes the menu when a waiter appears to hand them out.

"Forgive me for saying this, but you look like shit," Kirsten says.

"Then my looks have finally managed to catch up with how I feel."

Kirsten hums. "I've been reliving my urge to kick you in the face."

Foggy closes his eyes. "You _should_ kick me in the face."

"Aaand it's gone." Kirsten closes her menu and puts it down. Foggy opens his eyes again and looks at her. "Jack misses you. He wants to know if you're angry with him."

He didn't know he could feel any worse than he already does, but yup, he can. "What? No, _no_ , God." It physically pains him to talk. "No, it's not--Fuck."

Kirsten nods empathically. "Yeah. He's a lot like Matt. If I don't keep an eye on him, he'll end up convincing himself that just because he has no evidence of it, it doesn't mean polar bears dying is not somehow his fault."

Foggy cringes. "How--How is Matt?"

"Busy out of town, it's Steve's bi-annual 'let's try to poach Matt for the Avengers' initiative time. Also, currently not on speaking terms with Karen." Foggy's brows raise in surprise. "He wasn't happy when he found out that she told you. They argued. Loudly. It's a good thing they're not a couple, or we'd be facing a domestic violence charge."

"She was right to tell me." Foggy puts his head in his hands and murmurs through his fingers, "he must hate me."

"Well, if you think that's how people who hate you act then I'm not sure what you'd expect from people who actually like you." Kirsten waves the waiter back to their table and hands him her menu. "I'll take the mushroom ravioli. Franklin?"

"Wine."

Kirsten frowns and cocks her head. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

Foggy shrugs. "I don't know. Tuesday maybe?"

She sighs. "He'll have the same," she tells the waiter, who nods and collects Foggy's menu as well. "And a bottle of sparkling water, we'll pass on the wine." The waiter leaves. Kirsten laces her fingers together and rests her chin on them. "So."

"So. The case?"

Kirsten smiles sweetly. "What case?"

"Your--" Foggy's eyes narrow and he grits his teeth. Of course. Of-fucking-course. "There is no case, is there?" Kirsten shrugs. "You lured me here under false pretenses to talk about Matt?"

"No, actually." She folds her hands on the table and leans towards him a bit. "I lured you here under false pretenses to talk about _you_."

"Me?" Foggy blinks. "Why would want to talk about _me_?"

"Because it's the second time you run away when you can't deal with your feelings. Your response to emotional trauma is shit, frankly, and people I love suffer as a consequence. I don't know what is it about you, but you make the Murdock boys love you so effortlessly. My dad would sure like a few tips on that."

Foggy hunches in his chair, folds in on himself in an attempt to look smaller. Damn. Damn it. "The third time," he says, because the other part of Kirsten's speech? He's not touching with a foot-long pole. Kirsten blinks, confused. Foggy takes a breath. "It's the third time. When I found out about--Matt's second job, I--I ended up walking out on him and slamming the door behind me."

"He never told me," she says softly. She doesn't sound surprised, though. "Well. Your track record is abysmal, then." Kirsten sighs again and drums her fingers on the table's surface. It seems she's steeling herself to say something, and Foggy feels a shudder go through his frame. "You limp."

"Excuse me?"

"It's almost unnoticeable, just a barely-there slight shift of weight," Kirsten carries on. "You favour your left leg. It's much less obvious than your hand — that one _is_ obvious, and not just because of how it looks. You flex your fingers a lot, you rub your left hand over them when you're distracted, it seems to ache a lot and I think it gets worse when you have to grip something for longer periods, like a pen or a fork. That's the part everyone sees. But you also limp, and that I can promise you is not apparent to most people. Just the ones who have intimate knowledge of such injuries."

"And you have because of Matt?"

Kirsten shakes her head. "Because of my college's athletics department," she clarifies. "I was the team captain of the cross-country relay team. We've done it all in all conditions imaginable and I've seen my fair share of broken legs and bones sticking out of places that they shouldn't stick out of. I know what a clean break looks like and this wasn't one." It's not a question, but Foggy shakes his head 'no' nevertheless. "Then kudos to the surgeon, because he did a damn good job. It's easy to fuck up."

"The surgeon and more than half a year of physical therapy. My aunt's sister in Kansas is a therapist. Not having to pay was very nice on my wallet." Foggy clears his throat. "No one noticed before, you know? Not even my wife."

"Matt noticed," Kirsten says. "Your steps sound uneven to him." She bites on her lower lip. "This doesn't make your wife sound--good."

Foggy smiles. "Kara was--She didn't care. She didn't care about any of that shit. She was new and exciting and _safe_ , she was wild and loud and larger than life, and I got swept up in her. I think...I think I even loved her, at some point."

"How long were you two married?"

"Close to three years."

"That's a long time to be married to someone you _think_ you loved at some point."

Foggy grimaces. "I was thinking about going back to New York when I met her," he tells Kirsten. He's never told this to anyone before. "And I didn't. I went to San Francisco with her, after her, because it was safe and she was safe. I suppose I held onto that marriage as long as I did, because I didn't want to think that the thing that I've abandoned my whole life for was not even working."

"Fair enough," Kirsten nods. She plays with her cutlery.

"How do you do it?" Foggy asks quietly. "How can you not be afraid?"

He doesn't have to clarify. Kirsten knows what he means.

"I am afraid," she admits, equally quiet. "I'm scared all the damn time. I wake up in the morning and I wonder if I get back home that evening, if _Matt_ gets back home or if this is the last time I see him, if Jack ends up growing up with only one parent."

"Then why--"

"My mother died when I was six," Kirsten tells him. "Just a year older than Jack is now. She was shot. It was a Saturday morning and we've run out of milk. Mum went out to buy some in the corner shop, just four minutes away from our house. She never came back. She went out to buy milk and she never came back."

"I suppose it comes down to the fact that we can be certain of nothing," Kirsten continues after a pause. The waiter brought their ravioli and a bottle of water, and Kirsten thanked him with a smile. "One of us could be killed because of Daredevil. I could just as easily be taken and tortured because of a case we're handling and because we make life miserable for mobsters. But I could also be run over by a car outside our office. I might die in a traffic accident. I might get shot while getting milk for my kid."

"Association with Daredevil definitely makes one's life more dangerous," Foggy points out.

"True," Kirsten admits. "But it's the question of worth. Is that extra danger worth it? Back when we first met, Matt tried very hard to push ma away. He said he didn't want to be responsible for another of his loved ones getting hurt. It was sweet, in a way, but also condescending as hell. Because it was _my_ decision. _I_ chose to be with him. I knew the risks and I chose to be with him."

Kirsten pours water into their glasses while Foggy stabs his ravioli with a fork. He is hungry, he knows he is, but the sole thought of actually eating, of chewing and swallowing anything, makes his stomach turn.

"So we're back to the question of worth. The extra danger, the risks. We could die any day, but there's the possibility of dying horribly. Is being with Matt, being a part of his life, worth taking that risk?" Kirsten takes a sip of her water. "Contrary to what Matt thinks, I've thought long and hard about this. And I've decided that yes, of course it is worth it. _He_ is worth it. I'd rather take the possibility of a horrible death, the fear and the pain and the grief that will no doubt come one day over not being with him. Over opening a newspaper one morning, or getting a Google alert, and finding out that he's dead, and regretting the time we didn't have. I know regret. I know what regret looks like, I've seen it go downhill right into a crippling depression. I don't want it. I'll take Luke Cage pounding on my door in the middle of the night to tell me that something bad has happened over regret _any day_. I'll take all the time we can have over having no time at all."

Foggy puts his fork down and away. He won't be eating anyway. "I--never thought about it that way."

"And that means you're less of an optimist than Matt likes to paint you as."

They sit in silence for a moment. Kirsten eats her lunch while Foggy drains one then two then three glasses of water. He never thought about that, about the choices he made. After he found out about Daredevil, he came back. He came to Matt's gym and he offered him their friendship back. He offered to come back, and he _did_. He knew it was going to be dangerous — and perhaps he couldn't imagine just what exactly those dangers entailed, but he knew. And it was his choice to stay. What happened, it might have been Matt's fault, but it _was_ also his choice that led to that, and he _didn't see it_.

"He misses you," Kirsten says. "He blames himself and thinks that every bad thing that ever happened to you is his fault, but he misses you. And then he considers _that_ to be selfish, because you'd be safer and happier without him around and yet he can't stop."

"Karen said he loved and missed me," Foggy whispers, so quiet that Kirsten has to strain and lean forward over the table to hear him. "After I left."

"He did. Even at his lowest and angriest, even long after he met me, he still loved and missed you." Kirsten moves her hand and covers Foggy's with it, entangles their fingers together. "He never stopped. It's not something we talk about a lot, because discussions about your first big love can turn awkward quickly, trust me on that, but I know he didn't. He still loves and misses you."

She lets go of his hand. "For a long time I only knew of you from Matt and from what Karen and Marci were willing to seethe out to me. Matt doesn't have any photos from law school, no videos, nothing, so I kept imagining you as that smug asshole that you just want to punch at first sight. I liked the mental image that I had, and I couldn't understand why would Matt be sad that you weren't at our wedding or why would he want to name his son after you. You were that asshole who abandoned him." She starts playing with the rim of her glass. "And then I met you. And you know what? You're a kind and big-hearted damaged person who I know for a fact cares a great deal about both of my boys. Hating you quickly became impossible, and I realised why Matt could have missed you all those years. You're an easy person to love and an easy person to miss."

"I shouldn't be." Matt shouldn't miss him, for fuck's sake, _Jack_ shouldn't miss him, he's only known him for a few months.

"Perhaps." Kirsten drains the contents of her glass. "But you are, and I'd be grateful if you stopped being an asshole. Go be a friend, I was told you're good at that."

"We're not friends, Kirsten," Foggy laughs bitterly. They aren't, he and Matt. There is too much history between them now, too much hurt and betrayal hanging over their heads like a storm cloud. All the hurt feelings and despair and sadness that threatened to fall on their heads at any moment leaving them anxious and unsure; they knew it would rain eventually, but it wasn't possible to have an umbrKara of collected calm and fake cheerfulness with them at all times. "We're not even the same people we were back then."

"Maybe you're right," Kirsten says. She waves at the waiter and requests the bill. "But I didn't know you back then. I only know you as you are now, and Matt was already broken when I met him. And yet you still _fit_."

They split the bill and Foggy declines Kirsten's offer to walk him back to his office.

 

**52.**

That night Foggy leans over the railings on his balcony and looks at New York.

When he came back to the city close to eight months ago, he didn't expect to find it so changed. To find the people in it so changed. Sure, he didn't think everything stayed exactly the same — he's not an idiot, and six years is a long time — but he didn't think he wouldn't be able to recognise anything. He never thought that his leaving would have had any impact on anyone, let alone one this big. He was just Foggy Nelson, the side addition to Matt Murdock's awesome and handsome and lawyer, the inevitable plus one that was difficult to get rid of.

They aren't those people anymore. Foggy ponders what he told Kirsten at lunch and realises that it holds more truth than he thought. They really aren't those people, and they most certainly aren't friends. Men who tried to play-pretend a friendship for a few weeks at best. Lousy losers trying to cling to an idealised and untrue image of something long-gone at worst.

Matt has his own world now. A wife and a son — a sweet, amazing son and Foggy feels a pang of guilt at the thought that, if things went differently once, he could have been Jack's godfather and Uncle Foggy — a prospering practice that he runs with someone he trusts, a circle of friends who go to the zoo and play softball in Central Park and celebrate Halloween together. Foggy doesn't fit into all that. He's the spare part that will ruin everything if you try to squeeze it in. Just look. He already caused a falling out between Matt and Karen.

They aren't friends. They're just two strangers who were friends once, who once knew each other and knew how to care about each other.

It'll be better if he leaves, it occurs to him suddenly.

Yes, yes it would be. It will be. He could go back to San Francisco, far enough not to cause any more trouble in his world that's not his anymore, far enough that all the miles between would ensure that they stay apart. He still has some people in San Fran, he could get a job. He even misses the beaches a little bit.

He'll call Matt. He'll call Matt and he'll explain everything — he'll not be an asshole this time, no disappearing act, you leave properly this time, Nelson, finish a job, finish a relationship, finish a life. Matt'll agree with his reasoning, because Matt is a smart and reasonable man. He'll see that Foggy is right, he'll see that it'll be better that way, he'll see that it's the only way to get his nice and put-together life back. 

The eight months Foggy Nelson spent in New York will be filed away as an anomaly, perhaps will become an anecdote that will be told years in the future, and Jack Murdock will blink and say that he doesn't remember the man for whom he drew a picture in arts class when he was five.

It'll be better if he leaves. It'll be better, because Matt and his family deserve the best.

 

**53.**

On Monday morning, Foggy turns in his resignation. In the evening, he starts packing.

 

**54.**

Wendell is less than happy with this development. He flies in from San Francisco unannounced, scaring the crap out of the East Coast director in the process. It's kind of nice, Foggy thinks, to know that you're such a valuable employee that your boss is willing to travel across the country to sit you down and try to talk you into not resigning.

Wendell's perplexed and surprised that his pep talk doesn't work. Nor does the promise of a substantial raise.

"It's not about the money," Foggy tells him. It really isn't, though the raise would be--that would be something. "I simply need to find something new. Move on with my life."

"Have you thought this through, Franklin, _really_ thought this through?"

Foggy nods. "I have, sir."

Wendell sighs and tells him that his resignation has been accepted and the standard period of notice of two weeks applies, unless Foggy is in a hurry. Foggy is not in a hurry, and those fourteen days will be perfect to put all his affairs in order.

It's Tuesday afternoon. By that time in two weeks, everything will be over.

 

**55.**

Early Friday afternoon Foggy heads to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee — he could tell his assistant to make it and bring it, or even tell him to run to the closest Starbucks and bring something fancy — but there was something soothing in walking through the quiet corridors of his floor to make his own; he wonders briefly if Karen ever learnt how to make coffee that didn't make you want to pour it all down the drain.

On his way back to his office — a cup of steaming cappuccino in hand — he passes a group of interns, who huddle together when they notice him. Most of them throw fearful glances at him, as if they were afraid that he's lost his mind and would do something unwise any second now. But there are a few — one or two, to be honest — who smile when he passes and give him small thumbs up. Foggy assumes that by now all of them have heard that he's leaving in just over a week.

Foggy passes them without a word, but does wave at the kid sitting on a couch outside the conference room. Back in his office, Foggy puts down his cup and seats himself behind his desk. For the next week he's still the head of this department, and that means he has a lot of work to do. He won't leave his successor with piles of letters and documents and contracts to sift through, everything will be in order, nothing will be misfiled or missing or ignored, and--

Foggy frowns. Wait a moment.

He gets up and peeks out of his office. On the opposite side of the corridor from him, on the couch outside the conference room, there indeed is a kid. A very familiar one at that.

"Jackie?"

Jack raises his head and beams when he notices Foggy in the doorway. "Hi, Mr. Franklin!"

Confused, Foggy lets go of his doorframe and steps closer to the boy. He has a big and heavy-looking book opened on his lap, and he's swinging his legs lazily. His Iron Man backpack is sitting next to the couch.

"What are you doing here?" Foggy asks.

Jack sighs. "I'm waiting for Grandpa," he explains. "We were going to the park, but then he had to come to the office so he told me to wait, but it was a while ago so I think he forgot."

"He forgot?" Foggy blinks. "How long have you been sitting here?"

Jack shrugs. "An hour? I don't know. Miss Jan told me to sit here."

Miss Jan, Miss Jan... Foggy struggles to place the name, but finally comes up with a face to go with it. Janice Portland, the assistant director here.

"This couch isn't very comfortable," he tells Jack, who nods his confirmation. "Maybe you should go to my office. I have, uh, paper and some pencils, you could draw something?"

"I have my crayons!" Jack says, excited. He closes his book and shoves it into the backpack, which he grabs and drags after him. He takes Foggy's hand as they go. "Won't Miss Jan be angry?"

"I don't care," Foggy mutters under his breath. Out loud, he says, "absolutely not. Plus my office is much nicer, and has a great view of the city."

Back in the office, Foggy drags a second chair to his desk and clears out some space for Jack. The kid does indeed take out crayons from his backpack, takes a blank sheet of paper from the stack Foggy pushed towards him, and starts drawing. Foggy observes him when he settles back behind his desk. There's a line between Jack's brows and he frowns the same way Matt does when he concentrates; unlike his father, though, Jack sticks out his tongue and catches it between his teeth. It's a very childlike thing to do, so who knows, maybe Matt used to do the same when he was Jack's age — it's not like there's anyone to ask. Or perhaps this Jack takes after Kirsten. Or maybe it's simply a Jack thing.

"What were you going to do in the park?" Foggy asks. Shit. He can't concentrate on the documents now.

The focused line between Jack's brows disappears as he tears his eyes away from his picture and looks up at Foggy. "Grandpa told Mummy he'd take care of me today," Jack says. "Mummy and Daddy are busy, and Grandpa promised to take me to the swings. Daddy doesn't like swings, they make him dizzy."

"That they do," Foggy murmurs, remembering a certain end-of-first-year party. Disaster, that. "When are your mum and dad coming to pick you up?"

"They're at work until the evening." Jack looks back to his picture and picks up a brown crayon. He sticks out his tongue again.

Foggy glances at his watch. "That's still at least five hours from now. What did Miss Jan tell you?"

"To wait at the couch."

"Unbelievable." Foggy stands up. "I'm going to go and see your Grandpa, okay? Wait here, Jack, I'll be back in a moment."

Foggy marches out of his office, startling an intern hovering just outside. Unbelievable. He catches an elevator and goes up four floors to Wendell's office. He sees Janice Portland when he steps out.

"Really?" he asks, voice full of sarcasm, as he passes her by. Janice frowns, not understanding, but Foggy doesn't stop to explain. He goes straight for Wendell's office, ignoring the secretary who tells him that Wendell is busy, and walks inside without knocking. What's the worst Wendell could do if he gets angry, after all. Fire him?

Wendell is on the phone when Foggy comes in. "Excuse me for a minute, Derek," he says and puts the phone down. "Franklin! I didn't expect to see you today. Did you perhaps reconsider my offer...?"

"Your grandson has been sitting on the couch outside my conference room for the past hour."

Wendell frowns. "Really? I told Janice to take care of him."

"She gave him an architecture of New Orleans album to read and left him there," Foggy says and doesn't bother to hide his displeasure. Un-fucking-believable. She couldn't even be bothered to find a book that would be appropriate for a five-year-old, let alone one that would be of interest to Jack in particular. "He said you were going to go to the park."

"Something popped up." Wendell grimaces and Foggy actually believes that he's feeling sorry for this disaster of a grandfather-grandson bonding day. "You know how it is."

Foggy does know how it is. Conferences at ungodly hours and author meetings on Sunday mornings. Yeah, he knows. He's been working here for more than five years now, he knows. So he nods and leaves the office.

"What is your problem?" Janice asks when he gets back to the elevator. She doesn't get in with him; Foggy doesn't ask what is she even doing on this floor.

"Next time someone asks you to look after a kid and you can't be bothered to, at least _ask_ what the kid would like to read."

The door closes before Janice finds a satisfying reply. Foggy gets back to his floor and stops by the office of Alana, his senior subordinate that he's hoping — and lobbying for, if he's being honest — will take his place once he leaves next week. Alana is--she's nice. Handles the interns when he just cannot stand them anymore and that alone is a reason why she should get his job after he leaves.

"I'm taking the rest of the day off," he tells Alana. "Keep an eye on everything."

He doesn't tell her why. He doesn't tell her anything. Again — worst case scenario, they can fire him for skipping work (unlikely, he's never done that before), but it would hardly matter, considering the fact that he's already on the out. So he just drums his fingers on Alana's doorframe and leaves, goes back to his own office.

"Pack your things, kiddo," he tells Jack as he enters. Jack jumps in his chair and quickly shoves something under his papers, with a slightly embarrassed expression on his face and bright red colour rising in his cheeks. Oh, bless. He even blushes like Matt. "We're going swinging."

 

**56.**

It's a bright and beautiful early summer day and Foggy has to squint in the sun. God, his suit is the least suitable thing to wear, he's going to boil alive. He lets go of Jack's hand for a moment and takes off his suit jacket; he hesitates for a moment before thinking, well fuck it, and tying it around his waist. He's not going back to the office today anyway.

He grabs Jack's hand again, and remembers something. "Shit." He uses his free hand to fumble for his pocket and fish out his phone. He gives it to Jack. "Text your mum and tell her that you're not dead and with me."

"Okay!" Jack lets go of Foggy's hand, takes the phone and stops in the middle of the sidewalk. Foggy shows him how to open a blank text message and Jack starts typing, fully concentrated and biting his tongue so hard it must hurt. Foggy waits patiently for him to be done. "Done!"

Foggy takes back the phone and Jack slips his hand into Foggy's again. Foggy squeezes; the office building might not be far from Central Park, but Foggy will be _damned_ before he lets Jack out of his sight or treats him with less than full attention. He has Daredevil on Google alerts now, he knows all about the shit that happens in New York on a pretty much daily basis.

"So," he says, "swings?"

Jack swings their joined hands. "Swings," he replies. "And could we get ice cream later?"

"Ice cream, sure thing." Foggy smiles. "There's this guy who sells great ice cream in the park. But what about dinner? You said your parents won't pick you up until the evening."

"Grandpa was gonna take me to dinner, but I don't want to." Jack looks up at Foggy. "I want to go with you."

Foggy squeezes Jack's hand again, but this time it's more about conveying a sudden surge of deep feeling — of _love_ , damn it — and less about making sure Jack doesn't get hit by a car. "We can grab a pizza," he says. Then remembers Matt's particular brand of hate towards most junk food, even pizza at times. Perhaps it got worse with age. Perhaps poor Jack is on a strictly fresh-and-natural diet. "Is pizza okay with your parents?"

"It is at sleepovers," Jack replies.

"We're not having a sleepover."

"If we go to your home and take a nap there, it's almost like a sleepover!" Jack grins. "And then we can have pizza!"

Foggy grins back. He cannot help it. "That's a very compelling argument, Mr. Murdock. You definitely are being raised by lawyers."

 

**57.**

"When I was younger," Foggy says as he pushes the swing on which Jack sits and giggles like a maniac, "I used to close my eyes when I was swinging. It made me feel like I could fly."

"Like Mr. Sam can fly?"

Foggy assumes he means that winged Avenger, Falcon. "A bit, yeah," he says. "It felt as if I could touch the sky. And when you can do _that_ , everything else is possible too. Anything you want. Higher, further, faster, _more_."

"More," Jackie repeats quietly and closes his eyes. On the next particularly high upswing, he reaches his hand out into the brilliant blue.

 

**58.**

They get the ice cream. Foggy gets a chocolate one for himself and is surprised when Jack asks for plain vanilla. To each his own. He pays for the cones and they move to a bench under a tree, at least it provides some shadow and that's useful now, because Jack doesn't have a cap and Foggy has learnt enough about sunstrokes while living in Cali to be wary forever.

"Why not a chocolate cone?" Foggy asks eventually, because damn, it's eating at him. There were so many different flavours, some that Foggy is sure don't even exist in nature. And the kid settled for the most boring one. It's almost shameful. Foggy thinks about taking Jack out for proper ice cream tasting with at least forty flavours to choose from and then thinks, _oh_.

"We have chocolate at home," Jack explains. "But Daddy doesn't like vanilla. We never have that."

Well, that does sound like something that might happen to Matt. "Your dad's weird."

"Yup!" Jackie nods enthusiastically and licks the rim of his waffle. "But I like him."

Foggy smiles into his ice cream. "Me too."

 

**59.**

Jack sits on Foggy's much more comfortable sofa right next to his Iron Man backpack and looks around the bare room curiously. There are two cardboard boxes standing by the wall, and in those, most things that Foggy owns and which are not strictly necessary in everyday life so he won't need them in this next week. Two boxes. Add to that a couple of boxes with his clothes and personal effects, and he'll be moving with six altogether. That's actually kind of some, when he thinks about it. The apartment isn't his, it's the company's, but he didn't bring anything of _his_ here. No knick-knacks, no dumb decorative things that only gather dust. Forget about any pictures. For the past seven months this place looked more like Matt's old Hell's Kitchen apartment than any other house that he's lived in before.

He wasn't sure he liked it, exactly.

"Pizza will be here in half an hour," he tells Jack and sits down next to him on the sofa. For that, the Iron Man backpack has to be moved to the floor. "If you wanna take that nap now, we could still claim this was a sleepover."

"Shh." Jack presses a finger to his lips. "No one will know we didn't nap if you don't tell."

"I won't," Foggy leans in and whispers his promise. Jack smiles brightly. "I don't have any games here," Foggy says as he straightens. "I, uh, don't usually have kids over."

"You don't have kids?"

Foggy blinks. He didn't expect that. "No," he says. Well, he doesn't. Thought about it, once upon a time. But. He left. Kara didn't want any. He and Kara split. He hasn't thought about it in years. "I have Netflix."

Jack laughs, arches himself into the sofa and giggles, tries to cover his mouth with his hands to hide the sound.

"No, seriously, I have Netflix." Foggy laughs too. To be honest, he also has his PlayStation, but most of the games he owns are not suitable for a five-year-old. "We can watch something. What's your favourite film?"

Jack jumps up on the sofa and ends up kneeling on it. "Lilo and Stitch!" Foggy doesn't know that one, which is what he tells the kid. Jack gets even more excited. "It has aliens and surfing, and it's in Hawaii and Grandpa wants to take us to Hawaii this year!"

"Hawaii and surfing, huh?" Foggy says as he searches through the Netflix database. It's--it's an animated film. Oh. Of course it's an animated film, Jack is a five-year-old.

"And aliens," Jack nods. "And Elvis."

"Well, I happen to quite like Elvis," Foggy says and puts on the film. He leans back on the sofa and Jack wriggles close to him, presses into his side, puts his head on Foggy's chest and sighs.

Instinctively, Foggy wraps an arm around him.

 

**60.**

"It's my birthday next week," Jack tells him when they eat their pizza. Jack shrugged when Foggy asked about his favourite one and said that he liked trying new things. So Foggy got _his_ favourite one. Hawaiian, with extra pineapple. It's a blessing that Jack has a far superior taste in pizzas to his father, who has always claimed that only crazy people and masochists mixed pineapple with tomato sauce and ham. Well, joke's on you, Murdock. Jack not only doesn't complain, but seems to love it.

"You'll be officially five?" Jack nods. "Five is a very good age. Cherish it before you get old, young man."

"We're having a picnic in the park on Saturday," Jack tells him. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and leans in "You'll come."

Foggy frowns. It wasn't exactly a question. "I will?"

Jack nods again. "Please? I want you to come."

Foggy puts his plate down. It'll be mere three days before he's out of the company and, ergo, the company flat. That's not a lot of time. "There's still some packing I'll have to do..." he tells Jack, waving his hand at the boxes around them, and trails off when Jack's face falls. "But I wouldn't miss it for the world. Thank you for inviting me. Now I'll have to spend the next week figuring out how to out-present your parents."

Jack smiles, but it's not his usual bright and happy smile, it's more subdued. Sadder. Foggy doesn't know how to make it better.

 

**61.**

A house in the film explodes and they have to pause it. Kirsten calls, telling Foggy that someone will be at his place to pick Jack up in about fifteen minutes. Thanks him for taking care of her son for most of the day. Curses her father in very colourful words.

 _Not a chore_ , Foggy says. _Love the kid._

It's not even just a phrase. He means it.

"Wanna watch the rest of the film?" Foggy asks as he plops back down next to Jack.

Jack is sitting cross-legged and is picking on the hem of his T-shirt. Uh, oh. Foggy knows that action, he knows what it means. Jack is picking on his T-shirt and is throwing glances at Foggy's boxes. "Are you leaving?"

Foggy sighs. He wasn't planning on doing this now. "Yes," he admits nevertheless.

"Why?" Jack looks at him. "We're here."

"It's--complicated." It's not something he can explain to a five-year-old. Maybe one day, when Jack is older, Matt will tell him their whole complicated story. Maybe he'll understand it then.

Jack makes an angry face. "Is Grandpa making you leave?"

"No!" Foggy assures him. Crap, the last thing he needs is to make Jack think his grandfather is the bad guy here. "No, Jack, he isn't. He doesn't want me to leave at all. It's my decision."

"I don't want you to leave either." Jack's expression turns sad again and he lowers his eyes. "Why is everyone leaving? Kate's leaving, and you’re leaving and I don’t want you to, and it's not _fair_."

Foggy’s mind flashes back to a scene so similar and yet so different, another Murdock sitting on a couch and looking as if his world has just collapsed into a pile of ash and he _lived through that hell_. And Foggy hears, memory-Matt’s voice as clear as if he was here next to him: _We don't live in a world that's fair. We live in this one._

Well _damn_.

"I'm sorry," Foggy says quietly. "But sometimes... Sometimes it's better if people go, you know?"

"No, it's not." Jack wipes his arm across his face. _Great._ Foggy made him cry. As if he needed any extra asshole points. "Family isn't supposed to leave."

Foggy has nothing to say to that.

They sit in silence for a while and then the doorbell of Foggy's apartment rings. Jack wipes at his face again and moves off the sofa, puts his backpack on. Foggy goes answer the door and is only mildly surprised when he sees Matt standing at his door. Well. Kirsten didn't say _she_ would come to pick the kid up. God damn you, Kirsten, and your meddling ways.

"Hey," Matt says with a small, strained smile. _Fuck it_ , he probably heard too. This is what happens when you work for someone's father-in-law. "I heard my kid's here."

"Yeah." Foggy is about to let Matt in and offer something to drink, when Jack appears behind him.

"Can we go?" he asks his father. He sounds sad.

"Sure," Matt says, sounding confused. Must have picked up on that sad tone. Can he smell tears? "What--"

"Lilo and Stitch," Foggy murmurs. Matt actually makes an understanding noise at that. "He told me that Kate's leaving?"

"School," Matt says. He takes Jack's hand. "West Coast."

"Ah." Foggy shifts his weight and Matt starts. "Matt, do you still have my stuff in storage?"

Matt frowns. "What?"

"Karen said that you cleaned out my old apartment and that you've put my stuff in storage," Foggy explains. "I was wondering if you still have it there? There are a few things I'd like to get back."

Matt lets out a small laugh. "Yeah, I do." He shakes his head. "Sorry. I should have given you the key earlier, it just--it didn't occur to me that you'd like it back. I forgot. Sorry. I'll have someone drop it by your office."

"Thanks." He looks at Jack. "The birthday picnic next Saturday...? I was invited."

"It'll be great if you come."

Jack looks stricken and bites down on his lip as if he was contemplating something, trying to decide on an important problem. Before Matt can say his goodbyes and take him away, Jack lets go of his father’s hand and moves quickly closer to Foggy, spreads his arms wide and goes for a hug. Foggy drops to his knees to be at eye level with him and allows the kid to wrap his arms around his neck.

"I'll miss you lots and lots," Jack whispers into Foggy's ear. They both know Matt can hear it, but he tactfully pretends he doesn't.

Foggy presses a kiss to Jack's temple and squeezes him tight. Ignores the few wet spots that he feels suddenly appear on his shirt; he ignores the annoying prickling in his own eyes too. He ruffles Jack’s black hair instead and stands up, pushes him back at Matt.

"I'll see you on Saturday," Matt says.

Jack waves at him. Foggy waves back. "Yeah," he says. "Saturday."

 

**62.**

He plays the rest of the film. 

_It's little, and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good._

He turns the TV off. He sits in complete silence for good ten minutes before fumbling for his phone and brings up sent messages. He immediately recognises Jack's, it's written in all caps and sometimes spelt badly.

_IM NOT DED. IN PARK WITH UNCLE FRANKLIN SWINGING. LOVE YU DADDY_

Foggy blinks. Then he blinks again, and checks the recipient's phone number. Yeah, it's Matt's alright. So much for texting mum.

Foggy scrolls back to the message and stares at the 'uncle Franklin', all caps. He sighs. Stares some more. Turns off his phone, rests his head against the backrest of the sofa, and sighs again.

 

**63.**

Tuesday evening, there's a knock on his office door.

"I know, Jason, you want me to go," Foggy says, not bothering to look up from the contract he's reviewing. It's hardly the first time the janitor comes around to remind him that the office does have closing hours. "But for the next five days it's still my office, you can't throw me out."

"Is someone trying to throw you out? Bad workplace manners."

At that Foggy does look up. Matt's standing in the doorway of his office, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.

"Matt!" Foggy shakes his head. "What are you doing here?"

Matt shows him his hand. There's something dangling off his index finger. "I brought you your keys," he says. "Technically my keys, I'm paying for the storage, but it's your stuff."

Matt walks into the office and puts the keys down on Foggy's desk. He doesn't leave, though; he pushes the chair opposite Foggy back and plops down onto it. He turns his head around, assessing the space. "I've never been in this building before, can you imagine."

"It's not exactly en route to anywhere for you," Foggy points out, "so I can." 

"You quit the job."

Foggy sets his documents aside. "I did. I grew to hate it. It's hardly law."

Matt hums. "I'm glad," he says. "I never really saw you as a corporate douchebag sitting behind a desk and reviewing variations of the same document over and over again."

Foggy snorts. "You see shit, buddy."

"True that." He taps his cane on the floor. "What are you going to do now?"

"A friend would now tell me that he could always use some extra help around," Foggy jokes.

Matt grimaces. "We're--not friends, Foggy," he says. "I don't know what we are, but we're hardly the same people we were."

Foggy nods. "I told your wife the same thing," he tells Matt. Stretches in his goddamn uncomfortable chair. Not long now, not long. "A former colleague of mine opened a practice in downtown San Fran. He says he'd be happy to have me."

"So you're going back to the West Coast."

"Most likely. It'll be for the best, Matt. I'll be out of your life and you can go back to being ridiculously happy the way you were that night when we met at the ball."

"What makes you think I want you out?"

"You can't possibly tell me that you're happy with how things are." Matt makes a small sound, but doesn't deny. Point for Team Foggy. "I--I've hurt you, and I'll never be able to apologise enough or make it up to you. This," Foggy gestures around the room, then between Matt and himself, "is just kind of awkward. Too much bad history that we can't just ignore and get over."

"Not all of it was bad," Matt says quietly. He takes his glasses off and runs a hand over his eyes tiredly. "You don't have to disappear, you know?"

Foggy frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You're moving," Matt says, "which is fine, I've accepted that. It's your decision. But you don't have to--cut all your ties. Again, I mean. I'm not the most hip person around and innovations are sometimes beyond me, but Tony Stark insists that there exist such amazing and state-of-art technologies like phones and planes."

"Does he really?" Foggy asks.

A smile tugs at the corners of Matt's mouth. "So he tells me. You don't have to disappear from our lives completely. Don't be a stranger, Foggy. My father-in-law lives in San Francisco, we've been known to visit from time to time. Jack'll miss you when you leave. And I--" Matt trails off.

"You what, Matt?" Foggy asks. God, he's tired. "As you said, we're not friends. We don't know each other anymore, not really. Too much time, too much crap."

"We don't. But that doesn't mean--" Matt pauses again. He licks his lips and seems to weigh his words carefully. "But I'd like to get to know you again. If you're willing to try, that is."

Foggy blinks, surprised. Matt has a carefully built neutral expression on his face and is trying very hard not to look like he cares overly about Foggy's answer. But he's sitting on the edge of the chair and the anticipation radiates off him in waves. 

"You're serious," Foggy says. He doesn't have to ask if Matt's serious, the answer to that he can read in Matt's posture.

"Yes," Matt says nevertheless. "If, if you'd like, of course. You might not want to."

"I--" Foggy takes a deep breath. "Yes, yes of course I'd like that. I want to."

"That's--okay. Alright. Great," Matt says; he takes a breath and smiles. He puts his cane away and leans across Foggy's desk with his hand outstretched. "Hi, then. I'm Matt Murdock."

Foggy looks at Matt's hand and then at the expectant face that Matt makes. He laughs. He takes Matt's hand and Matt squeezes, and doesn't flinch at the feel of Foggy's rough skin and misshapen fingers next to his.

"Foggy Nelson," Foggy says. Matt doesn't let go. If he holds Foggy's hand for longer than necessary, or if his smile gets a bit too bright, neither mentions anything. "And for the record," Foggy adds, "you're still a really, really good-looking guy."

Matt throws his head back and laughs, loud and happy and _carefree_ , and it’s almost like law school again, it’s almost as if they haven’t wasted so many years apart.

 

**64.**

Matt leaves and Foggy stays in his office, putting away the papers he's dealt with, pushing the ones that still some work on to the front. A folded piece of paper falls out of the pile that he took care of last Friday. Foggy bends and picks it up, unfolds it. It's--it's a drawing. Jack must have left it here, and Foggy suddenly realises what was it that Jack shoved between his things when he came back to the office.

He straightens the paper. It's a drawing alright. Three brownish blobs on short legs are standing on a meadow and are holding hands, the one in between substantially smaller than the other two.

_DADDY JACK UNCLE FRANKLIN_

Foggy frowns. It's clear what Jack wanted to draw, but he's not exactly sure why they're portrayed as brownish pear-shaped blobs when Jack can draw--

He almost drops the picture when it hits him. Avocados. The kid drew them as avocados.

Fucking hell.

Then he realises that he never told Jack _that_ particular story. They never told it to anyone, not even Karen. It was a private inside joke. And that means--

 _Fucking. Hell_. Matt told him. Matt must have told him, their sacred little avocado joke that used to be their thing and then stopped being their thing when Foggy bailed. Matt told Jack the whole story, and Jack found it nice and cute enough to incorporate into a drawing. Which means that it's still their thing, it's still something to think fondly of and laugh at. Fucking hell, he loves them, those two dumb avocados, both of them. Then he realises that he does. Love them, that is. He does. Shit, he does love them. The only and closest family he's had in years.

There's a tiny thought eating at the back of his mind.

It's probably infinitely selfish.

But he wants to fight for them. He wants to make this work.

He wants to _try_.

 

**65.**

Foggy goes to the storage locker after work. He finds the right container and opens it, and shit, Karen wasn't joking when she said that she and Matt packed all his stuff. It's all _there's_ , the whole space is filled with dusty cardboard boxes. They're even labeled, in Karen's tidy and compressed script. _Clothes_ , says one box. _Games_ , another. _Kitchen stuff_ and _bedroom closet_ and _living room shelves_. Matt kept it all these years. He and Karen put it here and then he'd kept the storage space rented, kept the key, almost as if he kept hoping.

Maybe one day Foggy will even give himself time to feel properly grateful, and to go through all these things to decide what he truly wants to keep, which parts of the life that is over and is gone are worth holding on to.

But it's not today. Today he's stayed at work longer than necessary and he made a promise to his _friend_ — and it was a promise, and Matt _was_ his friend, and it could all work out in the end, perhaps, if he tried, if he tried and _fought_ for it — and he was tired but happy, and there was only one thing he was looking for anyway.

One small shoebox labeled ‘Columbia 2010-2013’.

He finds it at the bottom of the big ‘bedroom closet’ box. He takes to shoebox out, lifts the lid and peeks inside. Yup, everything seems to be there, all the shit that he’s accumulated. Good. He’ll need it. He puts the lid back down and the box under his arm, shoves the key back into the keyhole and closes the door behind him. 

Everything else that’s in there will just have to wait for a more convenient time. For now, he has work to do.

 

**66.**

Back at his apartment — he somehow cannot force himself to call it ‘home’, it’s not home, it’s never been _home_ , home was not a place, it was the people you loved who constituted that and Foggy hasn’t had that for a long, long time – he starts up his laptop and opens up his Facebook, looks at his friends list and the names of people he hasn’t seen in years.

He flexes his fingers and sets them on the keyboard.

This better be fucking _worth it_.

 

**67.**

Saturday rolls around before Foggy even has a chance to notice. Most of his cases and contracts are wrapped up and waiting to be signed or passed on to his successor, who still hasn’t been named, but Foggy is fairly sure it’ll be Alana. His office has been cleared out; he’s still coming in to work on Monday — his last day, and he did hear some hushed talks of the dumb interns throwing a little celebratory party, Christ, he’s never had anyone be _happy_ about him leaving before — but just for a few hours, and then he’ll be finally and officially _gone_.

It probably shouldn’t feel liberating, but it _does_.

“You made it, you made it, you maaade it!”

A black-and-blue blur collides with him and Foggy lets out an oof! before looking down at the mop of black hair somewhere at the level of his waist. The black mop is connected to a head is connected to a five-year-old body of a little boy, who currently has his hands wrapped around him and is lifting his face up to look at Foggy. Jack smiles wide and happy and looks Goddamn _delighted_.

“I _knew_ you’d make it,” he tells Foggy. “Aunt Marci said you wouldn’t, and Mummy said you might be busy, but we knew you’d come.”

“We?” Foggy asks. He bends on one knee, lets Jack wrap his arms around his neck. He scoops Jack into his arms and lifts him up, and Jack clings to him like an octopus, settles comfortably against his shoulder and doesn’t let go. Foggy could get used to that.

“Daddy and I,” Jack tells him. “We knew.”

Foggy is even less than deserving of the faith Matt apparently has in him, but the knowledge that it’s _there_ warms him nonetheless.

“So that’s two beers that Marci owes me and Karen,” Kirsten tells him when he walks up to what used to be a picnic table, but is now just a giant pile of birthday presents. She grins and pecks him on the cheek. “Put it here with the rest of the things we don’t have the space for at home,” she tells him after he manages to fish out a wrapped present out of his bag without having to put Jack down.

Foggy takes note of all the other presents; most of them are giant boxes, some almost as tall as Jack himself is. Foggy’s present pales when compared with that, just a simple book-sized box wrapped in dinosaur-print paper. Nothing fancy. Nothing mind-numbingly expensive. Foggy steps in place, shifts his weight uncomfortably. Perhaps he should have gone with the toys he’d checked out at the store after all.

“Matt’s over there with the grownups,” Kirsten points at the second picnic table, not far from them. “I’m on the kid meet and greet duty today. We drew lots,” she adds and winks.

“That’s Dani,” Jack whispers in Foggy’s ear and points at a small Black girl in a yellow dress, her curly black hair in two pigtails. She’s chasing a boy perhaps a year older than Jack around the immediate area. “And that’s Nate. That’s Sarah and Lewis, and those are Katie and Jack, we go to school together.”

“Another Jack, huh?” Foggy laughs. “Which one of these wild kids is your best friend?”

“That’s Greg,” Jack tells him, ”but he’s not here. I don’t know if he was invited.” Jack makes a sad face. “I think Daddy is still angry that we blew up our last home with Greg and his dad.”

Something clicks in Foggy’s mind. He remembers Jack telling him about his friend Greg and his friend’s Greg’s crazy father. He also distinctly remembers Matt telling him something about his last apartment being blown up by kids--and about Tony Stark babysitting at the time…?

“Wait a moment.” Foggy cranes his head back and looks square at Jack. “Are you telling me that your best friend is Tony Stark’s kid?”

“Yes?” Jack blinks at him, and then whips his head to the side. “He’s here!”

Foggy puts him down and Jack immediately runs off. And true, Foggy sees a red-haired boy no older than Jack — probably his age, to be honest — accompanied by an equally red-haired and sharply dressed woman whom Foggy recognizes as Virginia Potts solely because they were introduced by Wendell once. Virginia Potts walks up to Kirsten and they start talking, while Jack and the boy — Greg, his name is Greg — fall into each other’s arms, start giggling and then run to join the other children.

Foggy shakes his head fondly and resumes his walk to the ‘grownups table’ as Kirsten put it. The spawn of Tony Stark, the same Tony Stark that Matt used to curse at least weekly for good measure. Who would have thought.

“Damn,” Marci says when she notices him. “You couldn’t have stayed home like a good repentant man that you are?”

“Hello to you too, Marci,” Foggy greets her warmly. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is out, it’s warm, he’s casually dressed and in the park, Jack was delighted to see him and apparently there’s a still a tiny part in Matt that refuses to give up believing in him. It’s a wonderful day and nothing can ruin that. “I didn’t think a kid’s birthday party was your sort of an event.”

Matt snorts. He’s sitting on the picnic table, guarding — at least it looks like he’s guarding it — a tourist fridge full of what Foggy hopes are beer bottles. Matt reaches into the fridge and takes out one bottle, yup, it’s beer, Matt’s favourite fancy Czech beer because God forbid Matt Murdock drank your usual pisswater. He offers the bottle to Foggy and Foggy takes it, grunting out his thanks.

“I’m not going to stay long,” Marci says, “but I couldn’t _not_ come. It’s the whelp’s birthday party, not just any kid’s. God help me, but I love him. The one and only kid in existence that makes me want to _aww_.”

“He is very loveable,” Foggy agrees.

“Which means you cannot, in good conscience, judge me for any of this, Foggy-Bear.” Matt laughs at that and Marci punches him in the arm. “And you shut your face, Murdock, it’s all your fault anyway that your whelp is so cute and tiny.”

“Cute and tiny,” Matt wheezes out through the peals of laughter. He takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes, wiping the tears away. “’Cute and tiny’, you’re never living this one down, Marci.”

“And this is my cue to leave.” She puts her hands on the table’s surface as if preparing to push herself off, but stops mid-motion. “But not before I see this one.”

Foggy turns around to see what caught Marci’s attention. Virginia Potts is walking towards their table, one hand on Greg Stark’s shoulder. Greg’s keeping his head down as if ashamed, and Jack is trailing a few paces behind them, looking worried.

“Hello, Matt,” Virginia Potts greets him when they stop in front of their table.

Matt smiles. “Hi, Pepper,” he says. “And Greg.”

Virginia Potts squeezes her son’s shoulder. “Gregory has something to say,” she announces. She pushes the boy towards Matt a little. “Greg?”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Greg Stark says to the tips of his sneakers, “Mr. Murdock.”

“And?” Virginia Potts prompts.

Greg swallows. “And I’m sorry for blowing up your apartment last year,” he says very quietly. “Dad is sorry too, but he won’t say, so I’m saying it. Sorry. Can I play with Jack now?”

Jack peeks out from behind Virginia. “Please, Daddy?” he adds.

Matt makes a half-miserable, half-teary face as if someone just punched him in all his most vulnerable feels. He runs a hand over his eyes. “Yes, of course you can go and play,” he tells Greg, who finally looks up from his shoes and smiles faintly at him. “And… Don’t worry about the apartment. It’s--It’s nothing. We were going to move anyway.”

“Thank you, Mr. Murdock!”

Greg Stark grabs Jack’s hand and they run towards a nearby playground. Foggy notices Dani and Nate breaking off from the bigger group and chasing after the two boys. _Kids_. Meanwhile, Virginia Potts exchanges her thanks and goodbyes with Matt and Marci, and then leaves them, heels somehow not getting stuck in the grass and ground. Foggy’s not surprised. Between making sure not one but _two_ Starks didn’t blow up half of New York and running a company, she was a busy woman.

Marci’s snickering brings him back to reality. “You’re so soft, Murdock,” she says and shakes her head. “So soft. ‘Don’t worry, we were going to move’, seriously? He blew up your old place and yet you still invited him to the party? Who does that?” 

Matt shrugs. “He’s Jack’s best friend, what was I supposed to do?” he asks. “It’s not like I have a leg to stand on when criticising Jack’s strange tastes when it comes to choosing his best friends.”

Marci shakes her head again. “That you don’t,” she says and it sounds less like a well-meaning mockery and much more serious. “You are so fucking soft, Matt.”

“And _this_ is your cue to leave.” Matt grins at her. “Thanks for the ship, it’s amazing, Jack loves it.”

“He better.” Marci kisses Matt’s cheek and gets off the table. She pats Foggy’s shoulder as she passes him by. “I’ll text you if I ever find myself in San Fran, we could go grab a drink or two or six, and then I could drag your drunk ass onto a boat and set it afloat in the ocean.”

“Charming as ever, I see.”

She smiles and actually leans in to kiss his cheek too. Foggy counts that perhaps not as a victory, but as a small indication that she could still forgive him one day. After she leaves, Matt pats the empty space on the table next to him, inviting Foggy to sit down. Which Foggy does. Matt clinks his beer bottle against Foggy’s.

“One hell of a birthday picnic,” Foggy says. Mentions his hand around. “Lots of people. All your friends? Or are some just the parents of Jack’s guests?”

“Some are both,” Matt clarifies. He starts pointing at people. “that’s Luke Cage, Dani’s father. Good guy, we sometimes team up, even though he’s insufferable when in the company of his best friend, Danny.”

“The ‘last year’s mysterious Halloween disaster’ Danny?” Foggy asks, remembering a piece of conversation he heard at Matt’s house.

Matt laughs. “Yeah. They--That’s a long story.” Foggy hums. Matt takes a sip of his beer and points at another person, “that’s Peter. He’s actually here only because he’s a great photographer and Karen’s too busy running around with a video camera. She’s obsessed with making videos, you should see the one she took of the wedding.”

“I’d love to see the video of your wedding,” Foggy says quietly.

Matt _blinks_. “Well,” he clears his throat, “you can ask Karen for it. She has the original unedited seven-hour-long video. Kirsten says it’s _mad_. Anyway,” he continues, “Kate Bishop you know. She brought Nate Barton to the party, because Clint’s busy. The Avengers got into another disaster somewhere in Australia.”

“She’s moving to the West Coast.”

“Yeah,” Matt nods. “Stanford, she got accepted there. Seems like everyone’s leaving for California lately.” Foggy opens his mouth to say something, tell Matt _everything_ , but Kirsten walks up to the table and he shuts it without uttering a word.

She seats herself on the table next to Matt and puts her head on his shoulder. “This is officially everyone,” she tells Matt. “We’ll start opening presents any moment now, because I don’t know how much longer Karen will be able to keep that little abomination from running up to the kids.”

“Abomination?” Foggy asks.

Kirsten grins. “We got Jack a puppy,” she says. “It’s the most adorable and lively labradoodle I’ve ever seen and Matt _hates it_.”

“I don’t hate it,” Matt shoots immediately back. “It’s just-- _everywhere_ , I’ve already tripped over it twice at the office. It’s still better than the alternative, though.”

“Do I want to know what the alternative present was?”

“Jack wanted a puppy or a sibling,” Kirsten tells Foggy. “We’ve decided that a puppy was less high-maintenance than a baby, so a puppy it is. I hope he likes it.”

Matt shrugs. “If he doesn’t like it, we can always rely on Kate.”

Foggy frowns. “Kate Bishop? How does she factor into this?”

“Kate Bishop has a tendency to steal other people’s dogs,” Matt explains.

And Kirsten throws in, “she did that with Clint’s Pizza Dog too.” She intertwines her hand with Matt’s. “There’s one present that magically appeared out of thin air and is smoking. I thought it might be from Stephen, but I think Skye could have brought it too.”

“It’s definitely from Stephen,” Matt says. “I just hope it isn’t a dragon or a hell-portal to another dimension, Jack is way too young for that.” He squeezes Kirsten’s hand. “Is Skye still here?”

“Yes. She’s making rock slides for the kids. Said it was her day off and SHIELD and the Avengers could survive without her.”

“That’s very nice of her,” Matt comments with a wry smile. “I don’t think your father’s here, however. Did he forget again?”

“He’s not and he didn’t. I just told him the party was next weekend.”

Foggy, who was just taking a sip of his beer, chokes and sputters on it. Matt’s face betrays a similar emotional reaction. “You did what?” Matt asks.

“Told him that it was next week,” Kirsten repeats calmly. “That we were busy this weekend and we pushed the date. It’s payback for ignoring Jack on their day out. I swear, he sees his only grandchild once every six months and then can’t leave his office long enough to actually take him to the park. His grandfather privileges have been revoked.”

Matt makes a pained face. “Please don’t antagonize your father, honey,” he says. “He’s taking you to Hawaii in two weeks, don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird.” Kirsten lets go of Matt’s hand and reaches for a beer. “We’re not going to Hawaii with him.”

“Kirsten…”

“What?” She shrugs. “We’re not. First he fails to invite my husband — not that you’d have accepted the invitation, but he still should have _asked_ — and then he completely fails as a grandfather. Thank God for Franklin, who bravely saved the day.” Kirtsten winks at Foggy. “So Jack and I are definitely not going on that stupid Hawaii cruise. You and I are going to take two weeks off in August, after Marci is back from Greece, and we’ll take Jack camping. It’ll be much more fun.” She looks at Foggy. “Or we could just go to Cali and crash at Franklin’s new place and not tell my dad that we’re visiting. I hope your new house is by the beach.”

“It’s not,” Foggy says.

“Damn.” Kirsten gulps down her beer and puts away the bottle. “I think Luke’s wrestling with the present from the Avengers, I better go and see if he needs help. Did you know that Thor threw in those amazing Asgardian mead cookies?”

“Did he?” Matt asks, a smile creeping back onto his face. “Perhaps we should send him a ‘thank you’ note?”

“Oooh, those cookies are definitely worth that.”

Foggy watches Kirsten walk away from them, white dress billowing on the slight wind, high ponytail bouncing from side to side. Then he looks at Matt, who can’t actually see his wife, but still wears the most love-struck and dumb expression possible. It’s beautiful, how much he loves her and how obvious he is with his affection.

Foggy laughs. “Where did you get that woman?” he asks. “It’s amazing how well you fit together, like you were tailor-made for each other.”

“She almost killed my case in court,” Matt tells him, still smiling. “One of the best things that ever happened to me. I wouldn’t have met her if you--if you were here, so I suppose there’s one good thing in all that.”

“Phh, nonsense,” Foggy says, “why wouldn’t you have met--“

He trails off. Remembers what Karen told him. _I mean... He was in love with you._ He swallows his words back. Matt wouldn’t have met Kirsten if Foggy were there, if he hadn’t left. He wouldn’t have met her and he wouldn’t have fallen in love with her, or married her, or had the most amazing kid with her, or been ridiculously happy with her. He wouldn’t have done that, because he was in love with Foggy and would have held out hoping that one day Foggy would notice. That one day Foggy would perhaps return those feelings and would love him back.

“Matt, I--“

“Daddy, Daddy, you have to see this!” Jack runs up to them, and Foggy once more gets interrupted. If this is the universe’s way of saying that he shouldn’t tell Matt anything, the universe can fuck off. “Daddy, look!”

“That might be somewhat difficult,” Matt jokes when Jack gets to him, Kate Bishop hot on his trail. Jack’s not wearing his blue T-shirt anymore, but a purple one, and has a small child-sized bow slung across his shoulder. He pushes what appears to be a book into Matt’s hands and Matt takes it, opens it and runs his fingers across the first page, and _oh_. Shit. That’s his present, that’s the present Foggy got Jack.

“What is this?” Matt asks, frowning. His fingers dance on that first page, between the rough texture of the paper and the smooth rectangle in the middle.

“It’s _you_ ,” Jack says, excited, “it’s you and Uncle Franklin, and there’s you and Aunt Marci,” Jack flips a few pages and puts Matt’s fingers on another photograph, “and there’s you with a really weird hat, and you sleeping on a pile of books, and you--“

“It’s a photo album,” Kate cuts in. “Of you in law school.” She cocks her head. “At least Kirsten says it’s from law school, it’s super cool, she almost didn’t want to let go of this, she and Luke almost fell down laughing over that one pool party pic with a giant inflatable di--“

“Thank you, Kate,” Matt interrupts her, before she has the chance to fully describe that amazing photo. “Where did you get this?”

“It was one of my presents!”

“I made it,” Foggy says quietly and three heads turn towards him. “I--Jack liked listening to our law school stories, and Kirsten said you didn’t have any pictures, so I threw this together for him. For posterity. He should know what a giant dork his father was when young.”

He almost adds ‘and beautiful’ as a joke. Almost. Doesn’t, in the end.

"Where did you get all these photos?" Matt asks.

"Most of them are mine," Foggy tells him, "just like all the Columbia students' newspaper articles. Some I bullied out of our former classmates. You'd be surprised at what people can find on their hard drives if you nag them long enough." He sighs. "I just thought Jack might like it."

Jack presses the album close to his chest. “I love it,” he states. “It’s the best present, even Mummy says so.”

“I agree,” Kate adds, “and I’m the one who bought the bow and arrow.”

“You got my son bow and arrow?”

“Clint’s idea.” She pushes Jack a bit away, towards the rest of the party, and the kid takes the hint and leaves. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure,” Matt answers.

Kate reaches into the pocket of her skirt and takes out a folded piece of paper. She unfolds it and hands it to Matt. “I know you can’t read it,” she says, “but it’s a letter, from Columbia. I got in.”

“You got--“ Matt drops his hands. “Kate, congratulations. But what about Stanford and the West Coast?”

Kate puts a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to go to the West Coast,” she says. “I don’t want to leave New York. All my friends are here. My job’s here. Clint’s mostly here, these days. Clint’s kids are here. You are here, you and Kirsten and Jack. I don’t want to leave all that.”

“Your dad’s here,” Matt adds with a wicked grin.

Kate rolls her eyes. “My father is actually a point for moving all the way to Cali.” She sighs. “I didn’t think leaving would be this difficult and I’ve realized I don’t _want_ to do it.”

Matt folds the acceptance letter and hands it back to Kate. “You and Clint patched things up?”

“It’s a work in progress, but we’re getting there,” she says as she pockets her letter. “But you have to admit, co-parenting the dog from the West Coast would be impossible.”

“Very true.”

Kate sways on her heels. “So, on the off chance that you haven’t hired a new babysitter yet, you don’t have to. I’m staying in New York.”

“I’m glad you’re staying,” Matt says, takes out two new beer bottles and offers one to Kate, “if that’s what you want. Don’t compromise your future for an archer Avenger and a five-year-old with a crush on you.”

Kate smiles and takes the offered bottle. Foggy could bet that she’s not actually old enough to drink yet, but he’s not going to comment. It’s an important private moment between these two. “But that _is_ my future,” Kate teases. “Columbia is a good university, which you can attest to. And I’m staying in New York because it’s _my home_.”

“Jack will be happy to hear that. And no, we haven’t found a new babysitter yet. You should go and tell him that he won’t have to say goodbye to you.”

Kate turns on her heel and goes to do exactly that.

“So,” Foggy says, after the silence stretches for too long and edges close to the ‘uncomfortable’ territory, “it seems not everyone is leaving for California after all.”

“No, it doesn’t seem like that anymore.” Matt turns his head to the side in a gesture that Foggy knows means he’s focusing all his senses on a person. On Foggy, now. “When are you moving?”

“Wednesday,” Foggy tells him. Matt hums, opens the bottle and drinks the beer. “Yesterday I closed the deal on my new apartment.”

“That’s nice.” Matt turns the bottle in his hands. “Kirsten was joking about those holiday plans, but call us when you’re settled. We’d love to come and visit. It’d be nice to check out your new place, to see if you’ve upgraded from the last place you were renting. The stench from that restaurant... Korean, wasn't it?”

“Har har, very funny,” Foggy says. He takes a deep breath as Matt takes another sip of his beer. Now or never. “You know, if you want to see my new apartment that bad, you can just come and toast it with me on Wednesday. After all, I’m just moving to Brooklyn.”

Matt chokes on his beer so hard Foggy has to hit him on the back. “What?” he manages to force out through the coughs.

“My new place is in Brooklyn,” Foggy repeats. “I’m not moving to San Francisco. I’m staying in New York.”

“You’re not leaving,” Matt says, slowly. “But--your job. You _quit_. What about that San Fran friend and his practice? What will you do now?”

“I told that friend, in very polite terms, to shove it,” Foggy explains. “And I’ve already applied for a new gig.”

“You have?”

“Yup,” Foggy says, over-pronouncing the ‘p’, making it pop out of his mouth. “I have it on good authority, since I’ve heard it from a very reliable source, that the position of assistant D.A. will open up next month. They haven’t chosen the successor yet, so I thought, why the hell not? Nothing can be worse than being a corporate douchebag sitting behind a desk and reviewing variations of the same document over and over again.”

“You’re running for assistant D.A.?” Foggy shrugs. “But you haven’t actually been in a courtroom for over six years! Do you even remember how it’s done?”

“Low blow, Murdock, low blow,” Foggy murmurs and Matt presses a hand to his mouth to hide his giggles. “I’ll tell you why I’m doing this. I’m doing this, because the D.A. is so afraid of you that he’s not even trying to fight you anymore. Someone has to step up and be a worthwhile competition for you, and save the D.A.’s office’s reputation. So beware, Murdock. We shall meet in court.”

“You’re going to run cases against me?”

“If I get the job, you _bet_.”

“You honestly think you’re up for this?”

“If memory serves,” Foggy says, “and if it doesn’t, ask Jack, I included the department newspaper clipping in his album specially for this, I have one win over you.”

“Impossible.”

“And yet.” Matt shakes his head. “We went against each other _once_ and I won, Matt, fair and square. Ergo, my track record is much better. So perhaps the question should be, are _you_ up for this?”

“I don’t remember you ever winning against me.”

“Ah!” Foggy tsks. “Professor Riley’s employment law moot court, second year. I steamrolled you.”

“Employ--That was hardly a win during what could hardly pass for a moot court.”

“ _Steamrolled_ you.”

“Then I suppose we’ll just have to see which of us is better in an _actual_ courtroom.” Matt shakes his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe this. “You’re not leaving.”

“Well, no.” Foggy glances down at his already empty bottle that he’s fiddling with. “You know, I promised to turn Jack into a mini golf champion, and that’s not something I can do over one of those amazing and state-of-art technologies like phone or Skype. Besides,” Foggy tears the corner of the Czech label off the bottle, “New York is my home.”

“You’re not leaving,” Matt repeats again.

“No.”

“You’re _really_ not leaving.”

Foggy looks up from his bottle and at Matt, at Matt’s face, Matt’s disbelieving goofy smile so radiant and happy that it physically hurts to look at.

“No,” Foggy tells him, and packs as much affection and conviction into it as he can, “I’m really not leaving. I'm never leaving again.”

 

**68.**

"Are you happy?"

They’re sitting on the floor of Foggy’s new place. Foggy has swung by Matt’s office to pick him up Wednesday afternoon, after Kirsten has left to get Jack from pre-school and Marci has left on her date and Karen has left to go home and write her thesis. It’s not much bigger than Foggy’s Hell’s Kitchen apartment, but it’s in a much safer neighbourhood and there’s even a playground around the corner. There are swings there, nice for when Jack will come to visit him, because that’s something that he knows will happen, now, Jack visiting him. He’ll come and they’ll have pizza, and a proper sleepover one day.

Matt smiles at his beer bottle, the cheap and disgusting stuff that they’ve picked up on their way here. It’s the kind of smile Foggy has seen on him a lot since he came back, and the same smile Matt used to give him back in law school, unguarded and genuinely happy. It’s nice to once more be the reason for it, to be the person who put it on Matt Murdock’s ridiculously handsome face.

"Yeah, Foggy," he says and maybe Foggy cannot hear heartbeats and is not a walking polygraph, but he still knows Matt is sincere. "I am. I am now."

Matt grins. Foggy grins back. He cannot help it.

For the first time in a very long time, he is too.

_Honestly._


End file.
